Times Change
by HamAndCheese
Summary: Charlotte is a young aspiring actress from New York. On the final night of a show called "Newsies," an accident befalls Charlotte and she finds herself waking up in New York, but the New York of over a century ago. T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**Heya. I'm HamAndCheese. Or Alley, since it's shorter. Okay, so this in my first fic, and I know this chapter is horribly short, but it's late, and I have to get up early in the morning. I promise that subsequent chapters will be longer.**

**Also—I am a full time student, with a job, and a band, and too many chores. I update when I update. I apologize for this, but there's this really neat "Add to Story Alert" option below, and it emails you when I update. Telling me to update faster will make me move slower, because I am a mean person. ;)**

**Disclaimer: While this should be assumed since I am posting on here, I don't own the Newsies. Just Charlotte.**

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I whistled cheerfully as I walked, my breath fogging in the cold winter air. My cap perched jauntily on my head, and more than one head turned to stare curiously in my direction. I readjusted my leather satchel as I rounded a corner.

It was a short, fifteen-minute walk from the small community theatre where I had performed tonight to my mom's and my small fifth-floor walk up, so I hadn't bothered to change out of my costume. I had just finished the last night of a set of performances based on the newsboy strikes of 1899, and I was eager to get home, where it was warm and dry.

We had managed to pack the house for three weeks of shows, performing over a dozen times. The play was a hit. The director had written his own account of the strikes, using characters that seemed to be only legends of the strike. Our performance centered on a young man named Jack Kelly, and his gang of newsies, whom he lead to striking against Joseph Pulitzer, bringing about change for the child laborers of New York. It was a very dramatic performance, every time. My character was an eleven year old orphan who was part of the gang, and idolized Jack Kelly.

"'ey! Charlotte!" A voice called my name. My whistling stopped abruptly as I turned. A young man in his early twenties stood there, also dressed in costume, a red bandanna around his neck.

"'ey, Cowboy!" I called back. The actor who had played Jack "Cowboy" Kelly in the play was leaning on a wall outside a bar, his long fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer.

"You want one?" He held it up. The condensation on the clear bottle caught the light and sparkled like diamonds.

"Mm. Tempting, but no. I wanna go home so I can stop being an eleven year old boy." I motioned to my chest, which was bound flat under the loose shirt of my costume. He just laughed and waved good bye.

I continued on my journey home. My breath continued to swirl and fog around me. I tugged my coat, which was rather light, closer. I suddenly wished that I had remembered my own coat, instead of the coat that my character sported. The wind picked up and blew the dry leaves that littered the gutter. They danced and swirled around my feet with small, raspy, skittering noises.

_Yep. That's me, Charlotte Bennett._ I thought. _Aspiring to Broadway at only fifteen, making herself known in theatre as "The Eleven Year Old Boy."_

I laughed to myself. I had gotten in to theatre when I was ten, and had only played three female parts out of the dozens of roles I've held. Since I had the small build and high voice of a young boy, but I was better at taking directions than actual young boys, I was often cast for that kind of role.

I readjusted my satchel again, bouncing it on my shoulder. A cloud passed across the quarter moon, and I suddenly felt myself falling.

_Manhole!_ I shrieked in my head. I hit the floor and darkness enveloped me.

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**Yep. Short. Okay, you know what to do, so start typing those reviews! Thanks for reading, and remember, there's a difference between criticism and flames. Guess which one ain't welcome here?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heya. Okay, two posts in one day! Wow, I'm good. Anyways, here's chapter two, which I wrote in church (not during church, just before it started.). So enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own the Newsies. They weren't under my Christmas tree this year.

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Slowly, I came to consciousness. There was a circle of soft light high above me. The manhole. Funny, my mother always warned me about open manholes and looking where I'm going.

Feeling was slowly making its way back into my limbs. I wish it hadn't. I could tell I was hurt, but I couldn't tell how badly. Maybe I could still climb out. Groaning, I rolled over and pushed myself up on my hands and knees. I reached out for my satchel and cap and pulled them to me. Then, carefully, I started to feel for rungs to climb out.

My searching fingers were soon rewarded by the bite of bitter, icy metal as they collided with the rungs. I whimpered and grabbed hold. Climbing the frozen metal rungs, I dragged myself upward towards the light.

I finally reached the top, and with one final pained cry, I heaved myself onto the achingly cold pavement of the sidewalk. I lay there, panting in the cold night air. It was much colder than when I fell, I noticed. I wondered how long I had been out. My mother was going to kill me. If I ever get home. I'll just lie here for a little more…

The sound of running footsteps rang out, echoing off the sheer faces of the surrounding buildings. Coming my way. I was in too much pain to try to crawl out of the way. The footsteps drew closer and I closed my eyes.

Something struck the small of my back as someone went hurtling over me, landing with a grunt. The person scrambled to their feet. I expected them to continue running. Instead, I felt hands grab me under my arms, dragging me back into the darkness of an alley.

I stirred and groaned. A hand snaked out of the darkness to cover my mouth.

"Shh, kid!" a deep, heavily accented voice commanded. I caught a glimpse of a red bandanna through the darkness.

More running footsteps, much heavier this time. The person's hold on me tightened, pulling me against their body. I could feel their chest heaving and their perspiration dampening my shirt. The footsteps continued on past our hiding place.

The person next to me relaxed and released me. Without their support, my legs gave out and I slid to the floor of the filthy alley.

"'ey, kid. You'se okay?" the voice asked. I could only whimper. They crouched.

"Dat open manhole… d'ya fall down it?" the voice asked, crouching beside me. I nodded, eyes closed tightly and my breathing shallow.

"Can you'se walk?" I merely opened one eye to glare at the shadowy figure crouching over me. He just grunted and slung me over one shoulder. "'Ise dunno where you'se live, but I'se takin' ya home wid me." I just let my head hang down, my cheek pressed against his back. Darkness took over again.

* * *

The darkness thinned as we entered somewhere warm. Many voices chattered, asking questions, and making comments.

"Who's dat?"

"Where'd ya find 'im?"

"New pet, dere?"

I was laid down on something that felt like a thin mattress, and a thin blanket was pulled over me. The darkness thickened once more.

* * *

I finally woke again. I sat up against the head board, rubbing the back of my neck.

_Oh, my head. I must have gotten hammered last… wait. Where am I?_

Through my barely opened eyes, I took in what seemed to be a bunk room. Bright winter sunlight streamed in through the windows. There was a scratchy grey blanket covering me. I picked up the edge of it, and rubbed it between my fingers. Wool. So where was I?

There was a red bandanna hanging on the bed post at the foot of my bed, and loud snores emanating from underneath. I leaned out to look over the edge. I ended up over balancing, and toppling to the floor, six feet below.

There was a startled grunt and a loud _thunk!_ as whoever it was sat up into the top bunk. That was followed by a long string of curses. Hmm… _creative_ curses. The person finally stopped and looked over the edge of their bed, where I was squirming on the floor making pathetic I'm-in-pain noises.

"Huh. You'se awake." I recognized his voice from last night.

"Yeah." I snarled.

"Feisty little thing, ain'tcha?" He commented as he reached over to grab the collar of my shirt and drag me off the floor. Once I was on the bed beside him, he stuck out his hand.

"Jack Kelly, newsie." He offered with a friendly smile. I just looked at his hand suspiciously. You wouldn't blame me, if you woke up to find that you were face to face with someone claiming to be the lead of a play that you had just performed. "Youse shake it." He said, breaking my reverie. I blinked and took it.

"Charl—Charley. Charley Bennett." I said, giving him the masculine version of my name.

"'ow old are ya, Charley?" He asked. He ducked out from under the top bunk and stood, grabbing his pants off the foot of the bed. I looked away.

"'leven." I mumbled. I didn't know what was going on, or where I was, or _who_ he really was, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to play along until I knew. I felt myself slipping back into character.

Jack finished tucking his shirt in and finished doing up his pants.

"You'se gotta family, Charley?" He asked, leaning his forearms on the top bunk and looking under it at me. I wasn't sure what to answer so I just shrugged. He nodded, apparently satisfied with my noncommittal answer.

Jack walked away and started to leave the room.

"Er, Jack?" I asked softly. He stopped and looked back. "Where am I?"

He smiled. "You'se at the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. C'mon." I motioned for me to follow. I padded barefoot down the hall after him.

Jack entered another door. I stepped in. It looked like a washroom. Jack stepped over to what could have only been a spittoon, and started to undo his pants. I squeaked and darted out the door. I could hear Jack laughing from the hall as he did his business.

"It's okay. I'se decent. Ya can come back." He called when he had finished. Blushing furiously, I slunk back in.

"Here. Pump for me, would ya?" He motioned to a water pump that was set at the end of a large trough. I came over and started to work the pump.

"So, Charley," Jack wet his hands and made a face. The water had to be freezing. "'ave ya ever sold papes?"

My mind scrambled for a reply. While I had never actually _sold_ papes, I had hawked them in the play. Lord knows I was loud enough to be heard over the bustle of New York, but I never have had to make up headlines.

"Y-no. Nah, I 'aven't." I stuttered.

"Awright." Jack declared as he took over the pump from me so I could wash up. "You'se wid me today."

I mutely nodded and splashed my face with the frigid water. When I was done Jack handed me a towel and explained,

"We'se too late for the mornin' edition, since you was passed out, 'nd I stayed back to watch you. But we'll just catch the afternoon edition, and be on our merry way."

"Okay." I agreed, trailing him out of the washroom.

"Don' worry!" He drawled "You'se learnin' from the best in New York!"

**Okay. So if some of the dialogue seems like I misspelled it or forgot a letter, I didn't. Maybe a little on accident, but a lot of the ending consonants are either dropped completely or changed. It takes a little while, and if you have a hard time reading it, try saying it out loud. I have to do that to write it, and my family's looking at me like I'm insane. Only a little, guys, I swear. And I know it's still short, but it's triple the length of the last one.**

**Yeah, you know the drill. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Heya. Okay, okay, I know I said that I would be a slow updater, but I got snowed in. I live in the desert of California, and I'm snowed in… this is just wonderful. But anyways, I'm trying to lengthen my chapters, but I also don't want to move the story along too fast. So some feedback about if I need to speed up or slow down would be nice, pretty please.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned the Newsies, would I be here? No.  
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Jack lead me to a place in line in a courtyard. The sign that arched over the gate read "The New York World Circulation Office." When it was our turn, Jack stepped up to the window.

"Heya, Weasel." He greeted. The heavy-set man behind the window grimaced.

"It's Weisel, Jack. 'ow many?"

"Eh, foity for me, and twenty for me friend, 'ere." Jack patted me on the head. I started to protest that I could buy my own, but then I remembered I had no money. Jack cut me off, though, "It's awright. Foist day, you'se get a little help."

Jack picked up his stack of papers and quickly counted twenty of them off the top for me. He sat on the step and opened a paper, quickly scanning the headlines for something he could work with. I followed his lead. I found a headline that I could work with and folded my paper.

A dark haired boy dropped down onto the steps next to Jack. "Heya, Cowboy."

"Heya, Race." Jack muttered, looking still for a headline. He finally found one and sighed, folding his paper.

"You'se see da headlines? 'ow are we gonna sell papes?" Race's brow furrowed.

"Yeah. I'se know. But headlines don' sell papes…" Jack sighed again.

"Yeah, yeah, newsies sell papes. I'se know." Race noticed me. "'ho's dat, Jack?" He asked, looking at me curiously.

"Dis 'ere's Charley. Charley, dis is Race." Jack mumbled, standing. "C'mon, Charley. Let's see what you'se can do."

I scrambled up and trotted after him, clutching my papers. He stopped at the edge of a large open air market.

"Awright. when you'se done sellin' da papes, meet me back heah, on dese steps." Jack pointed to three stone steps leading up to a door, "'kay?" I nodded.

Jack hoisted his papers on his shoulder and stepped off the curb, shouting out his improved headline. It wasn't much of an improvement. I sighed and stepped out after him.

"Roving bands of thieves terrorize Manhattan! Dey've been destroyin' private property and causin' mischief!" I bellowed, waving a paper over my head so I could be seen in the crowd.

Jack looked over his shoulder in surprise. "Wheah's dat story?" He gasped, thumbing through one of his papers.

"Page six." I mumbled as a lady handed me a penny, and I handed her back a paper.

"Alley cat's fight, knocking over trash in a Manhattan neighborhood?" Jack raised an eyebrow at me. I nodded as I sold another paper.

"You c'n get one from me bruddah, dere." I nodded to a still shocked Jack as several people approached me at once.

Jack silently handed out papers and accepted coins. Once the small crowd around us, dispersed, we continued to move through the market. I continued to holler my headlines as Jack shook his head.

"You'se one loud little kid. You'se one loud kid, period." He told me as he covered his ears. I just smiled. That was my theatre voice coming into play. I had the strength of an older person, with the voice of a kid, so I could be heard in the cheap seats without using a microphone.

In a little over an hour, I had hawked not only my papers, but most of Jack's also. He just kept handing me papers and watching me sell. Finally, Jack decided that we would start on our way home and sell the last two papers on the way. I limped out of the market after him, feeling particularly sore from my accident the night before.

Just after we left the market, a young woman approached me. Jack quickly took off his cap, and so did I.

"Oh you poor thing!" She simpered when she reached me. "How did you get that dreadful limp?"

"Er, I'se was born that way, Ma'am." I squeaked, sounding very much like a young, shy boy.

"How old are you dear?" She asked, petting my head.

"El—seven, Ma'am." I looked quickly at Jack, who shook his head in disbelief.

"And your name?"

"Charley, Ma'am."

"Well what a little gentleman. May I have two papers, please?" She asked, pulling a tiny purse from the folds of her skirt. She handed me a nickel, and took the last two papers from Jack.

"Two, Ma'am? And it's only a penny each." I said, holding out her nickel.

"One for my sister." She motioned to a girl that stood a little ways away, watching Jack with great interest. "And I know, dear." She winked at Jack, while she folded my hand closed around the nickel.

Jack and I watched her sashay away, caps still in hand.

"Well, dat was… odd." I commented, putting my cap back on. Jack shook his head again, and continued walking.

We walked in silence for a few moments before Jack turned to me.

"You'se said ya'd never sold papes befoah. Why d'ya lie?" He said slowly.

"I'se di'n't. I'se nevah sold papes befoah."

"C'mon. Den what was dat? I've nevah seen such a smooth liah befoah. You'se really 'leven?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'se 'leven. I'se also a good liah. And I'se loud. Jist am."

"No need t'get defensive on me." Jack held up his hands. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Hambone."

"Pardon?" I raised an eyebrow.

"You're a hambone. You'se 'ad dat lady eatin' right outta your hand."

"Aww… shaddup." I moaned, shoving Jack a little as we walked.

He grinned and shoved back, and I tumbled into the street. There was a sharp jerk on my collar as Jack hooked his fingers in it and pulled me back the second before I hit the ground. A team of horses and a delivery wagon passed inches from my nose.

Jack pulled me the rest of the way up and wrapped an arm around my head, pulling me into his side.

"Sorry, kid." He murmured. I just nodded, too shaken up to say anything. We stood like that for another minute. Finally, he asked,

"You'se okay?"

I nodded again, and he released me. He slowly lead me through the crowded streets. As we got onto streets that I recognized as being near the lodging house, Jack cleared his throat and spoke,

"Okay, de lodgin' house is a charity, but dey'se wanna make sure we don't take advantage of it, so it costs a nickel a night. A lot of us pay for a week at a time." He paused, "You'se can eat at the lodgin' house, but da food is slop. Most of us go to da nuns for breakfast, at least." He paused again, uneasily this time. "Does dat make sense?"

I nodded. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Wheah you'se from, anyways?" He asked, looking down at me. I lifted my cap and ran my fingers through my short hair, before resettling the cap.

"Brooklyn." I named the borough that I was raised in, back in my own century.

"Dought so. Dat's where I'se found ya." He rested his hand on my shoulder as he paused on the curb, looking for traffic before darting across the street. I heard him mumble something under his breath.

"Pardon?" I asked, panting, after trying to catch up to him.

"Nuddin'." He muttered. Then he relented. "Well, I'se was jist dinkin' dat de 'hattans are gonna be angry wid me for bringin' a Brookie home wid me."

"Dat's a problem?" I ducked after him as he quickly turned into an alley.

"Yeah. A little. See, 'hattan and Brooklyn, we'se has an agreement. We'se don' go dere, and dey'se don' come heah. 'Cept Race. He's allowed over dere."

"Huh." I mused.

"Well, heah we'se are." Jack pulled up at the edge of a curb. Across the street stood the lodging house. Dusk was falling all around us, and the gas street lights were starting to be lit. The lodging house glowed warmly, and I could see all the Manhattan newsies gathered around a long table teasing, and laughing, and joking, while an older man smiled over all of them from the head of the table.

"Dis is me home." Jack smiled faintly, before glancing both ways and starting off across the street. I padded after him.

Jack pushed open the door and held it for me.

"'ey! Kloppman, I'se home." He hollered, hanging his coat on a hook by the door. I shrugged my coat off and hung it next to Jack's. The old man that I had seen through the window came out into the hall.

"'eya,Jacky-boy." He greeted. "You're the last one. The cold has them all in tonight. Is that your stray?" He motioned to me.

"Yeah, dis is Charley." Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Charley, dis is Mistah Kloppman. He runs da lodgin' house."

"Come on in boys. We were just starting supper." Mr. Kloppman motioned us in to the dining room. Jack stopped just inside the door.

"'ey! Bummahs! Dis heah's Charley. He's new. There was a chorus of voices greeting me.

"'nd dis is Skittery, Pie Eater, Boots, Mush, Bumlets, Kid Blink, Crutchy, Dutchy, Snipeshooter, Snoddy, Snitch, 'nd Swifty, Itey, Jake, Specs, and you'se met Racetrack." Jack pointed out each boy, but I couldn't keep up.

Jack took an open seat near the head of the table, which I assumed was his spot, and I stood awkwardly in the door. Racetrack waved me over.

"'eya, Charley." Race greeted. He patted the seat in between him, and an Irish boy with dirty blonde hair and freckles. A crutch leaned against the wall behind him. Must be Crutchy.

"'eya, Race. How'd sellin' go tahday?" I asked, sitting. Race shrugged.

"Eh, you'se know. No one can sell like Jack, 'nd he only got foity papes."

"Hmm." I nodded as I dug into my food. There was an eruption of loud laughter at the head of the table. Jack was talking excitedly.

"'nd you'se shoulda seen him! Turns alley cats fighting in to dangerous thieves! And boy, I'se tell ya, dat kid can hollah. I'se ain't nevah hoid anyding neahly as loud. You'se shoulda seen the way he had da ladies eating right outta his hand! Smooth, too. 'I'se was born this way.' says him. And she ate it right up!"

Race leaned over to me. "Dat you'se Cowboy's talkin' 'bout?"

I shrugged. "I'se guess so."

"You'se must be good at hawkin' papes. I'se nevah seen Cowboy dat proud of a newsie." Race whispered in awe. I just shrugged again. Everyone at the table turned to stare at me.

My stomach sank. I didn't want the attention of every newsie in Manhattan. I wanted to go back to Brooklyn. My Brooklyn. In the twenty-first century. I was nothing but a fifteen year old girl. All I wanted to do was act. And now I found myself in my greatest role of all—a real life, eleven year old newsboy. I mentally stiffened my spine and rose to the challenge. I raised my chin and stared right back.

Jack continued his thought. "'nyways, dat's how tahday was."

The boys at the table laughed, and they started to get up in groups. One group was chattering about starting a poker game. Another talked about the day's headlines. Race followed the group talking about poker. Crutchy pulled his crutch over and struggled to his feet.

"'ey, Charley, ya mind helpin' me 'nd Kloppman wid da table?" Crutchy asked, gathering up the cutlery that was strewn across the table. I shook my head and started stacking plates.

Between the three of us, we quickly cleared the table. Kloppman sent us out of the kitchen when we started to pump water for washing the dishes.

"Go on, you two. I know you would rather be up with your friends." He said kindly. We didn't linger.

Both of us hurried out as fast as we could. Crutchy handled the stairs much better than I would have expected. My injuries made me much slower, however. Crutchy waited for me at the top of the stairs. When I reached the top, panting, he started down the dimly lit hallway. He pushed open a door, and light and chatter flooded out into the hall. I followed him in.

Crutchy headed for the small table where a poker game was going, and was dealt in.

"Hambone!" My head snapped up at the name. Jack waved me over.

He was lounging on one of the bunks, smoking a cigarette and talking to another boy. I limped over to him. The other kid was wearing an eye patch. He took the cigarette from Jack and took a drag, before handing it back.

"Here, Ham, this is, Blink." He motioned to the other boy. I sat next to Jack.

"Hambone?" I asked in disdain. Blink's head snapped up and he glanced at me with his lone eye as Jack bristled.

"Lissen, kid. I'se know ya ain't a newsie, but you'se never question the leader. I'se named ya Hambone, and Hambone, you'se is."

I held up my hands. "Fine, fine. So's whatcha want?" I asked casually, taking the cigarette from Blink, who had taken it back from Jack sometime during the exchange.

Blink raised an eyebrow, but surrendered the cigarette. I stuck it between my lips and inhaled deeply. I smoked at school, in my time. With my boyish haircut and my attitude, it was generally acknowledged that I was bad. And with that came the smoking. The smoke was bitter in my mouth. I gave a small cough as I handed the cigarette back.

"Deah Loid is dat a nasty cig." I wrinkled my nose. Jack chuckled.

"'nyways, I'se called ya over so we'se could try and figure out wheah to bunk ya. See, all da kids you'se age is all ready doubled up. So's you'se eithah gonna have to sleep on da floor," I interrupted Jack,

"I'll sleep on da floor!" Jack ignored me and continued,

"oah, you'se gonna hafta bunk wid one of da older boys. You'se don' wanna sleep on da floor durin' da winter." He gave me a meaningful look.

"So draw straws, 'nd da loser gets me?" I suggested, taking another drag on the cigarette that we ended up passing between Blink and I. Jack intercepted it and took a smoke before handing it back to Blink and standing.

"Awright, bummahs! We'se gotta figah out wheah we'se gonna put Hambone heah. All dose wid single bunks come heah. And bring da straws, Race."

"Oh no, we'se ain't, Cowboy." One of the older boys stood. He looked to be about Jack's age, maybe seventeen. "You'se may be da leadah, but you'se brought da rat home. You'se sleep with it."

The boy's declaration was followed by a chorus of Yeah!s from the other boys. Jack sighed. Just then Kloppman suck his head in.

"Lights out, boys."

The boys all moaned and scattered to their various bunks, shedding clothing as they went. It was quite a sight. Jack lead me over to a bunk and undid his pants, draping them over the foot of the top bunk. He pulled himself up on the bunk and lay back. I stood next to it and looked up at him. I could barely see over the edge, and there was no way I was gonna make it up.

Jack looked over the edge and saw me standing there, waiting. My grey eyes peered through my heavy bangs and met his brown ones** (A/N: Oops. I just went back and watched Newsies, and had to fix that. He doesn't have blue eyes, he has really pretty brown ones.)**. He groaned and reached down a hand to pull me up. He dragged me up and across him to his other side, grabbing the seat of my pants to pull me up the last bit.

Once I was safely up, he rolled over so he faced away from me and growled,

"Don' hog da blanket."

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**Ooh. Lookie how long this one was! Yay. And I also got a surprise today in the mail—my own Newsies DVD. Double yay. I'se love me muddah.**

**2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate? People who review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Heya. Okay. It turns out, this fanfic is where all my spare time goes… I'll slow down as school picks up again. But for now, enjoy it while it lasts.**

**Diclaimer—While I now own a Newsies DVD, the Newsies themselves weren't in the packaging. *sigh***

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I suddenly felt like I was falling. I awoke with a start to find I _was _falling. I screamed. I landed on the hard wood floor with a thud, startling all of the newsies out of their sleep. I groaned and curled into a ball on the floor as they gathered around me.

I looked up to see Jack peering over the edge of the bunk. He grimaced and mouthed "Sorry." Then he couldn't resist a tiny smirk. I glared back up at him.

"What happened?" Race asked, dragging me to my feet.

"Someone doesn' share well. Bummah pushed me outta bed." I growled dusting myself off.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good riddance. You'se stink, anyways." Jack shot back.

"Look who's talkin'." I said cockily. Jack rolled over and muttered,

"Don' make me come down dere." I just stuck my tongue out at his back. Crutchy came over slowly.

"You'se can bunk wid me tahnight, Charley." He offered with a friendly smile. I smiled back.

"Danks, Crutchy."

I followed Crutchy to his bunk as the crowd dispersed to their own bunks. As we all settled down, I heard Crutchy whisper,

"G'night, Charley."

"G'night, Crutchy." I whispered back, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Kloppman came in early the next morning. He looked over the room of peacefully dreaming boys and allowed himself a small smile. These boys were as close to sons as the old bachelor would get. Then he shook himself. He needed to do his job.

"All right, boys! Up and at 'em! It's daylight, the ink is drying! What're ya doin'? Dreamin' 'bout selling papes? C'mon!"

Newsies groaned and stirred, pushing each other off, pulling blankets over heads, stretching. He slapped Skittery's feet, which were hanging over the edge.

"Skittery! Skittery! Skitts! Wake up!"

"Wha? I'se didn' do it!" Skittery mumbled, bolting upright.

"Yeah, yeah. I know you didn't do it. Get your lazy bum outta bed."

Kloppman continued to Jack's bunk. He poked and prodded and harassed Jack until he rolled over. Jack's cheeks were pink from sleep and the rough pillowcase, and his eyes were still nearly closed. He brought up an arm to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Nah… I'se not gonna get up. Get away." Jack mumbled sleepily, pulling his pillow over his head. Kloppman pushed him outta bed, where Jack landed on the floor with a heavy thump. I couldn't resist a snicker.

"All right, where's the new one? What's his name…" Kloppman asked, looking around.

"Hambone." Jack answered, pulling on his pants. "He bunked with Crutchy."

Kloppman looked around for me, but I was already part of the crowd of boys, flowing towards the washroom. I didn't know how I was gonna handle a pack of boys handling their… _ahem_… necessaries, but I guessed I would find a way. As for me, well, I guessed I would need to find a deserted alley in a little bit, so I could keep my identity a secret. I tried to keep my head down and wash up quickly, but it was difficult with so many boys chattering and jeering. A bar of soap flew over my head and was neatly caught, followed by a towel. I nearly got elbowed in the face by the boy who was pumping water for the rest of us. I ducked just in time to avoid some errant lather that was flung in protest. And just as I had been carried in there by the tide of riotous boys, I was carried out, and down the stairs.

When we hit the street, the boys spread out, bouncing of the walls of buildings, swinging around street lamps, jumping on and off of crates and barrels. Some of the younger boys were lifted onto shoulders for a ride. Boys pushed and shoved one another, all the while making as much racket as possible. I felt myself being lifted into the air and set on someone's shoulders. I looked down to see Blink's messy blonde mop and grinning face, one eye covered by his brown patch. We paraded all the way to the circulation center in this fashion.

When we got there, we all milled around outside of the open gates. I still sat on Blink's shoulders. Two large, surly boys pushed past us, up to the front, where I could see the top of Jack's head.

"Da Delancey's." Blink muttered.

There was a commotion up near the front, and then I could see the top of Jack's head making its way towards us. He streaked past Blink and I, clutching a bowler hat that had been sitting atop one of the Delancey's heads, and a triumphant grin. The Delancey's thundered past, shoving Blink out of the way. Blink quickly regained his feet, griping my legs tightly. The boys cheered and hollered and booed as the Delancey's chased Jack around the square. This was apparently a morning routine, judging by the familiarity that everyone seemed to have with the events unfolding. I cheered along with the boys at Jack's antics, pumping my fist in the air.

The gates to the circulation center opened just as Jack flung the hat, and it settled neatly on top of a street lamp, well out of reach. Blink set me down, and we all streamed in the gates. After being herded through the circulation center, I emerged with fifty papers and set off on my own through the city. After all, I did know the city. Somewhat.

My chosen headline of the day was "Tower of crates fall, crushing stray dogs who were hiding inside." I found what seemed a likely corner, and started hawking my headlines.

"House collapses, kills family of ten! House collapses! Find out if yoah neighbahhood is safe!"

People scurried to me left and right as I continued my trade.

* * *

As darkness fell, I made my way back to the lodging house, nursing a split lip. There were several other newsies coming in, as well. Blink spotted me coming in and gave me a smile.

"How was you'se day?" He asked, walking with me.

"I'se got soaked." I bragged, showing off my split lip and black eye.

"Nice shinah, dere, Ham!" He said admiringly. "Nuddin' compared to mine, dough." He motioned to his eye patch with a grin.

"Didya get'em back?" We pushed through the door together.

"Nah, Skittery found 'em and got 'em." I laughed.

"Eh, well, dere's always next time." Blink ruffled my hair.

After we had eaten, and Crutchy and I had cleared the table, all of the boys and I gathered in the bunk room. Race started a poker game in the corner, and I joined. Jack and Blink watched them, passing a cigarette. Jack glanced outside.

"Awright, kids. Off ta bed wid you'se." Jack announced. All the young kids moaned and started to get ready for bed and crawl into their bunks.

"Dat means you'se too, Hambone." Jack said without looking in my direction. I laid down my hand and my fellow players groaned.

"Dank ya, boys!" I said gleefully as I gathered up my winnings.

"Um, Cowboy? C'n I'se have a woid wid you'se?" Crutchy asked, hobbling over to Jack."

"Shoih, Crutchy, what's on ya mind?" Jack leaned back and let out a puff of smoke.

"Well, as nice is Charley is, he sorta, hits in his sleep." Crutchy explained. Jack nodded.

"You'se want me ta take 'im back?" Jack asked, taking another deep drag on the cigarette. Crutchy nodded. Jack sighed.

"C'mere, kid." He motioned me over. Then he picked me up and tossed me onto his bunk. "Go ta sleep." He ordered, before turning and walking away. I watched him, and then nestled my face into the scratchy pillow.

An hour or so later, I felt the mattress sink beside me. Jack tugged on the pillow, and upon realizing that I wasn't giving it up, sighed and pillowed his head on his arm. Out of the darkness, there came a whisper.

"You'se lucky that ya cute, Hambone, or else I'd shove ya ass outta bed again."

Jack obviously thought that my eleven year old alter ego was asleep. My heart fluttered at the whisper. _Sheesh. Pull yourself together, Charlotte._ I scolded myself. I then realized that I had a big, fat, girly crush on Jack. The same Jack who was lying next to me, his breath warming the back of my neck. The same Jack that I would wake up next to, his boyish cheeks flushed with the cold and sleep. This was going to be a long night, I could tell.

* * *

The next morning, I woke before Kloppman had come. Actually, the sun hadn't even come. I looked over my shoulder, to see Jack, looking just like I had imagined him last night. But this was no time for girlish fantasizing. This was time to get to the washroom before everyone else, so I wouldn't be doing my business in a frigid alley again. Jack had thrown an arm over me sometime in the night, so I wiggled out from under it and softly dropped to the floor. I walked carefully to the door.

Once I was out of the bunkroom with the door closed behind me, I moved a little quicker. I wanted to get back to bed before Kloppman came. The first thing I did when I was in the washroom with the door firmly shut behind me was unbind my poor chest. I hadn't let myself out of the thin cotton bandage in days, and it was starting to really ache. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the freedom. After a few breaths, I visited the pot, and then washed up in the bucket of frosty water in the corner. Finally, I looked at the rolled up bandage. I looked down at my chest and pressed both my hands against it. I was pretty boyish, with a straight waist and not enough up top to speak of, but it still would show.

I growled softly as I stripped off my thick woolen undershirt, and then a light tank top. My blousy over shirt was hanging at the foot of Jack's bed. Once I was bare from the waist up, I started to rewrap myself, hating it the entire time. I quickly redressed, and made my way back to the bunkroom. I had no idea how to get back into bed, but after a few seconds of investigation, I found a place where I could hook my toes and pull myself back up. Jack stirred and mumbled something as I slid in next to him. My eyes drifted closed and I was dreaming of my home.

* * *

I was shook awake was seemed like mere seconds later, not by Kloppman, but by Jack.

"Whaaaa?" I whined, I pulled Jack's pillow over my head.

"It's Sunday, Hambone. The one day we'se don' gotta woik."

"So lemme sleep." I growled.

"You'se don' want breakfast?" Jack asked, dropping to the floor. My stomach growled loudly, saying that I did indeed want breakfast. I poked my head over the edge of the bed to look at him. He was doing up his pants. I looked away, and my over shirt landed across my face.

"C'mon! Get dressed. Me 'nd some of da oldah boys is going down ta Tibby's for breakfast."

I pulled on my over shirt, and scrambled down, stumbling into Jack. He righted me, and I sat on the lower bunk and pulled my shoes and stockings out from under it, hurriedly putting them on. He sighed impatiently, but he waited for me to finish, before leaving the bunkroom. I scrambled after him.

Jack's long strides left me behind quickly, so that I had to trot to keep up.

"Jack! C'n you'se slow down a little?" I panted. I was aching all over from my various falls and yesterday's beating, and I just couldn't manage to follow him.

"We'se already late." He muttered, pausing.

"Da boys won' mind. Dey'se know I'se can't walk so well."

"It ain't jist my boys we'se meetin'." Jack sighed. "Awright. Get on." He stooped so I could get on his back. I scrambled up, and Jack started off again.

Jack carried me for a few more blocks before he stopped before a building. Stenciled on the window in red script was the word, "Tibby's." Jack pushed the door open and looked around. He saw the guys at the back and started towards them. When he reached the table, he set me down. At the table, Blink, Racetrack, Mush and Skittery were sitting with another boy, who I didn't know, although he looked vaguely familiar. The Manhattan boys were watching him uneasily. Jack pushed me into the booth next to the boy and sat on my other side. The other boys looked alarmed that Jack had done that.

"'ey, Spot. How's dings in Broolyn?" Jack asked easily, leaning back against the booth.

"Well, Jacky boy, dings are good. But tell me, who's da rat?" The boy on my other side, apparently Spot, motioned to me.

"Dis heah's Hambone. He's the new one I'se wanted ya to meet. See, I'se found him on Brooklyn's terr'tory one fine night, runnin' from da bulls. Hambone," Jack looked down at me, "Dis heah is Spot Conlon, da King of Brooklyn."

Brooklyn. _King_ of Brooklyn. Now I knew why the 'hattan's were uneasy around him. No wonder. Spot was small, but he had the attitude of a much larger boy. I was sure he wouldn't hesitate to soak anyone who crossed him. Which, judging by the way he was looking at me, I had.

"So _dis_ is da kid I'se been hearin' 'bout. Da one who can hawk papes even fastah dan you, Jacky boy. 'nd you'se say he's a Brookie?" Spot said slowly, clearly thinking about this.

"Yeah, he's a Brookie." Jack said, lighting a cigarette.

"So den, I'se dinks he belongs to me." Spot declared. The other 'hattan's and I looked in alarm to Jack. He just laughed.

"Nah. Findah's keepah's, Spot. Hambone stays in 'hattan."

"Awright Jacky, keep da rat. I'se just wanna know what you'se was doin' in Brooklyn." Spot asked, smirking. Jack straightened up, no longer at ease.

"I told you'se. Runnin' from da Bulls. I di'n' realize where I'se was til I'se tripped ovah da rat. Den I'se left."

"Takin' somethin' o' mine, wid ya." Spot leaned forward. "Tell me, Jacky boy, why d'ya take him?"

Jack opened his mouth, clearly not sure what to say. Before something unhelpful could come out, I interrupted.

"I'se followed him home, Mistah Conlon, sir." I shot a look to the 'hattans, daring them to say anything about the night when Jack carried me home. "See, I'se was runnin' from da bulls, too, 'nd Jack pulled me into an alley til dey'se was past. 'nd den, Jack left, but since I'se had nowheah ta go, I followed him back to 'hattan." I looked down, praying hard that Spot would believe me.

"Da name's right for him, Jacky. He sure is smooth." Spot smirked. He looked away from me back to Jack, "Awright, da kid heah saved ya. I'se won' considah you'se runnin' as a break in da undahstandin'."

The waiter came over, and we gave him our orders. The boys and I chattered merrily over our lunch, enjoying each other's company and the warmth of the dinner.

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**Yay. Bad filler chapter. Sorry, but I had to introduce Spot, and start a routine for the Newsies. And be sappy and actually announce the crush that was forming. Also, if you don't mind, could you look for mistakes, and let me know about them. I usually write at night, when I'm tired, so I know things get messed up, especially when I proofread in the morning before I've woken up.**

**Anyways, thank you all for reviewing and I think we have the drill down. I write, you r&r, and I write faster! (|:) (Thanks, MissThursday, for reminding me of that smiley)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Heya. Welcome back! So, last night, I made my little bro watch Newsies with me, and his only comments were "Gay." "Angst." and "Gay Angst!" Sadly, I agree with him, but I still love the Newsies. The little bro, however, is going to have to sleep outside. But now, he wants to make fun of my fanfic, so he's currently reading it aloud in a Texas drawl. I can't take it any longer! *angst***

**WARNING: Suggestion of adult themes in this chapter. I'll mark it with asterisks (*) when it starts and ends.**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own the Newsies. If I did, there would be no David or Sarah, and Les would have more lines than just "Yeah!"**

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And so life went on. Every morning, I woke hours before the others to get ready, and then crawled back into bed. Jack noticed, I'm sure, but he dismissed it as me being shy. Meanwhile, I got very used to seeing boys in various states of undress, and no longer blushed at it. The older boys teased me and the younger boys about getting girls. Jack pushed me out of bed at least once a week, when I dreamt and started to squirm. The rest of those nights I spent on the floor, since Crutchy wouldn't bunk with me anymore.

I got used to my monthly soaking by various street rats, and soon learned to be a vicious fighter, after Skittery threatened to let them pound me after he got tired of saving me. I saved up quite a bit in a handkerchief that I kept in the bottom of my satchel. Blink and I started spending more time together, since he decided that I wasn't as annoying as the other younger kids, and I decided that his blind eye didn't bother me. And slowly, my crush on Jack grew.

It had been three months since that night when Jack first found me, and New York was still held tightly in the grips of winter. It was once again a Sunday morning, and I was sleeping on the floor after Jack had pushed me out of bed again. I awoke with a start when Jack's bare feet hit the floor less than an inch from my face.

"D'ya gotta do dat?" I complained, yawning.

"D'ya gotta sleep right dere?" He countered, sitting on the edge of the bunk to pull on his socks.

"You'se pushed me outta bed."

"You'se hit me in da face." I noticed the faint outline of a bruise forming on Jack's cheekbone.

"Sorry." I muttered, but he was already gone. I shrugged and made my way out to the streets. Blink caught up with me.

"Heya, Ham. I'se goin' down ta Central Pahk. You'se wanna come wid?" Blink asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder. I pretended to ponder it over. Actually, all I wanted to do was hang around Jack, but Jack didn't seem to enjoy me following him.

"We'se can watch da goils…" Blink added. I laughed.

"Awright. C'mon." I slung my arm around his shoulder and we sauntered off down the street.

* * *

*Blink and I watched girls in the park for a few hours, before he left me to go with one of them. I wandered back to the lodging house, thinking I would go get some of the money I had stored up and maybe go to the book sellers I had seen near the circulation center. I pushed open the door to the bunk room, but I was lost in thought. So lost in fact, that I almost didn't notice that I wasn't alone. Jack was in there. Jack and a _girl_. I turned bright red and backed out of the room before they noticed me.*

Skittery found me a few minutes later, sitting on the front steps of the lodging house.

"You'se okay?" He asked, sitting next to me. I nodded, not looking at him.

"Ya know, Charley, when a man and a woman love each'uddah…" Skittey started to explain, guessing my silence was because I was confused about what I had seen.

"I'se knows how it woiks, Skittery!" I growled, pushing myself up and walking away.

I wandered aimlessly through the streets, trying to push that sight out of my head. I was jealous of that girl, not because of what they were doing together, but because she could be herself around him. It was pathetic, since I knew that if I came out as a girl, I wouldn't be able to be a newsie anymore, and I would find life much harder in a sweatshop, but I still wanted to be a girl again.

When I was in a world that was full of girls, girls who were curvier, girls who were bigger, I embraced my boyish looks. I chopped my hair off into a Beatles cut, I wore boys clothes, I smoked. But now, surrounded by boys, I wanted nothing more than to be a girl. Things could be so unfair.

I noticed that it had started to grow dark, so I started toward the lodging house. I got home after dark, and noticed a dark figure curled up on the front steps. I approached cautiously, wondering who it was. I could see a flash of red above the turned up coat collar. I sighed. It was Jack. The one person I wanted to avoid right now. He looked up and he heard my footsteps approaching. I sat next to him in silence.

"You'se da last one in. We'se was gettin' worried." Jack said quietly. I just nodded. He tried again.

"Sorry… 'bout tahday, I'se means. You'se shouldn'a had ta see dat."

I just shrugged. "I'se don' really wanna talk 'bout it."

Jack gave a relieved sigh and stood, holding out a hand to me.

"C'mon. Let's get in. Kloppman'll wan' us in bed, soon."

I stood and followed him in the lodging house.

* * *

The next week unfolded just as the weeks before it had, bad food, hard work, cold nights. Sunday morning, I felt Jack shaking me awake.

"G'way. Nooo…." I muttered and rolled onto my stomach.

"C'mon. Up. We'se gotta meet up wid Spot."

"Huh? Spot?" I lifted my head.

"Yeah, Spot. Get up, Hambone."

Five minutes later, I was trotting along next to Jack as he headed out. We passed Tibby's and I looked up at Jack curiously.

"We'se goin' ta Brooklyn." He said gruffly. I sighed and tried to keep up.

When we reached the Brooklyn bridge, and Jack looked up at it in wonder. I glanced up too. The bridge was beautiful. It arched over the river for what seemed to be an endless span.

"Quit ya gawkin'." Jack said, continuing onto the bridge. I pattered after him.

Jack led me down to the docks, where groups of rough, dirty boys seemed to congregate. Newsies. Brooklyn newsies. The meanest, toughest, most ruthless newsies in New York. I drew closer to Jack and felt for his hand. He looked down in surprise as I wrapped my small hand around his index finger. I waited for him to yank his hand away, but instead, he wrapped his other fingers around my hand. Jack stopped at the end of the pier, waiting for Spot to acknowledge us. Spot turned around, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Well, Jacky boy. Danks foah comin' ta see me so quick. 'nd I'se sees ya brought da rat."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatsamattah, now, Spot?"

"Well, see, some of my boidies been choipin' in me eah. Dey'se sayin' dings like 'Jack's gettin' too big foah his britches.' 'nd dat you'se wants some more terr'tory, 'nd you'se was looking at Brooklyn. Now, I'se don' wanna judge a man by what me boidies says, but I'se gotta know… You'se ain't plannin' on takin' Brooklyn from me, is ya?"

Jack pondered this for a moment. "Well, Spot, I'se don' wanna say your boidies is liahs, but maybe dey'se been mixin' up Queens and 'hattan?"

"You'se ain't gonna fight?" Spost seemed surprised.

"Nah, I'se too busy tryin'a keep Queens off me back."

They both spit in their hands and shook on their agreement. I wrinkled my nose. I never quite understood why they felt it necessary to do so. But they did, and so I learned to put up with it. Spot looked at me with a sudden interest. He sauntered over to me, looking me up and down.

"Wheah'd you'se say ya was from, rat?" He asked, standing over me, trying to intimidate me.

"Brooklyn."

"So why'se I ain't evah seen you'se around?"

"Maybe ya should look a little closer at da rats… Sean." I smirked. Spot's jaw dropped, and I marched off, a thoroughly confused Jack trailing in my wake.

I allowed myself a small smile. I had known Spot was familiar, but until I caught a glimpse in my reflection in the plate glass window of Tibby's, I hadn't realized why. I racked my brain on those cold nights on the floor, trying to remember names and dates and faces from an old genealogy book that my mom kept on a high shelf in our apartment. One name finally was left after eliminating all the rest. Sean Conlon, of Brooklyn, born in 1884. My great, great grandfather, on my mother's side.

"Would you'se care ta explain dat?" Jack panted, trying to keep up with me.

"Spot ain't da only one wid boidies." I shrugged, before crossing the bridge back to Manhattan.

* * *

Since we didn't have anything else to do on Sundays, the older boys took turns teaching the younger boys to read from the unsold papers that we always seemed to have around. It was quickly discovered though, that I was more literate and patient than all the older boys put together. So teaching the kids to read fell to me, more often than not. And that's what I was doing that afternoon after Jack and I had gone to visit Spot.

"Boots! Snipe! Geez. C'n ya sit for a little longah? For cryin' out loud…" I growled at the two boys that sat on either side of me on the bunkroom floor. They fidgeted uneasily. Neither of them understood why I couldn't just let them run wild like a bunch of heathens. It really got to Boots that we were the same age.

"Why can't one of da udder boys teach us?" Boots whined.

"'Cause Jack's ready to soak you'se all by da time he's done, Mush c'n barely read hisself, Crutchy gets bored, Race jist starts a pokah game, Blink hates readin', and da resta dem jist hates you'se."

Snitch bounded in, saving them from more of my lecture.

"Ham! C'mon! Jack sent me ta find you'se. We'se gotta go!" Snitch gasped for air as he tried to pull me up.

"I'se comin', I'se comin'!"

As soon as I was up, Snitch took off out the door, sliding down the banister. I stumbled down the stairs after him. We burst out the front door, and I followed Snitch through a maze of alleys and streets, dodging people and wagons. Snitch jumped onto a crate and hopped to a higher one, and then launched himself over a brick wall in the dead end alley he'd led me into. I sighed and followed him, praying something soft would be on the other side.

There was. A cart piled high with bags of flour was backed into the alley on the other side, I bounced once, then rolled off. Snitch was waiting at the end of the alley for me.

"Where are we'se goin'?' I gasped, leaning on the wall. Snitch was easily the fastest newsie in Manhattan, so Jack often used him for a messenger. Hence the name, Snitch. Snitch just shook his head and darted off again, leaving me to drag myself after him.

Snitch was leading me to Brooklyn, I thought, and my musings were confirmed as Snitch continued across the Brooklyn bridge. Finally, Snitch stopped running.

"Dat was a little long for ya, Snitch." Jack laughed, leaning against a wall.

"Da kid's got shoaht legs." Snitch replied, sinking to the ground next to Jack. I was doubled over gasping for air. Jack reached over and pulled me out of the street, and I stumbled into the wall next to him.

"Ah. Heah's Spot, now." Jack straightened up. "'nd he's brought his lovely lady."

I looked up to see Spot with a petite, brown haired girl on his arm. Snitch, Jack, and I all took off our caps for her.

"'eya, Jacky boy. Snitch." Spot greeted pleasantly. Snitch nodded and Jack smiled.

"'eya, Spot. Hello, Dove." Jack took the girl's hand and kissed it. She laughed and embraced him.

"Jack Kelly, still a charmer. How are ya, Jacky?" She asked holding him at an arm's length and looking him up and down.

"Heya, Dove." Jack smiled. She turned to Snitch and I.

"Well, I know Snitch, but who is this little dear?" The girl caressed my face.

"Ah. Dis is Hambone. Hambone, dis is Dove. She's Spot's goil, and an old friend of mine."

Dove curtsied and I nodded to her.

"Well, we'se should go in." Spot mumbled, motioning to the door of the restaurant that we were standing outside of. As we were going in, Dove leaned over to me an whispered,

"The best actresses are the ones that no one knows are acting."

My heart pounded. She knew.

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**Ooooh… what's gonna happen next? Actually… I don't really know. Yay for another bad chapter. I'm sorry, guys.**

**Also—Dove is my friend's character. Not mine. My friend is Butterflywriter.**

**I'm sorry I was late updating, but we might as well get used to it, since school is picking up.**

**You know what to do, please read and review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Heya. Okay, so does anyone else get an email every time they update their story? It keeps happening, and I'm going a little crazy. It's sorta like, "Ooh! New story update!... for my own… story." Also, did anyone else notice that Jack has him mouth open the entire movie? I noticed a couple times throughout the first time I watched, and then I started looking for times when his mouth was actually closed the next time through… they're few and far between.**

**WARNING: More suggestion of adult themes, but they're so scattered and minor, that I'm not going to mark them. Skip out on this chapter if it bothers you, and I'll catch you up in the next one.**

**Disclaimer: I know we've been over this, but I still don't own the Newsies.**

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My head spun as Dove entered the restaurant while I held the door, and I followed her in numbly. She knew. She had to. Why else would she say that? I sat in dumb silence at the booth. I didn't hear Jack repeating my name until he gave me a push.

"Hambone!"

"Huh?"

"I'se was askin if you'se weah okay. You'se don' look so good."

"Nah, nah, I'se fine. Jist tiahd." I lied. Jack wasn't buying it. Neither was Spot.

"Jacky boy, you'se should take da kid home. We'se c'n talk anuddah time." I noticed Spot was being unusually pleasant. He must have been trying to show off for Dove.

"Awright Spot. Heah, Ham. We'se goin' home." Jack tried to get me to stand, but I just couldn't. Everything was fading rapidly as my mind continued to scream in panic about Dove's remark. The last thing I remember is Jack slinging me over a shoulder just like he had all those months ago.

* * *

When I awoke again, I was back in the familiar bunkroom. I squinted at the bright light and stretched.

"'bout time you'se woke up. Ya know, dat carryin' ding gets old." Jack said. I looked towards the sound. He was sitting on the bunk next to mine, reading.

"Da whole faintin' dings gettin' old." I agreed.

"You'se shoah you'se not sick?"

"Yeah, I'se shoah." I rubbed my forehead, and Jack turned back to his reading. Real concerned, there.

I got up and left the bunkroom, determined to get dinner tonight, since I had come home late from selling the past two nights, and I had missed it. The boys were just sitting down when I came in. I took a seat between Racetrack and Skittery. Racetrack was animatedly telling Blink about his day at the races, and Blink was rolling his one eye. Skittery was, as usual, disagreeing with Snitch. At least they both were busy, so I could eat in peace. I had just put my first spoonful of soup in my mouth when Snipeshooter piped up.

"Hey Hambone?"

"Hmm?"

"What does 'in-ter-cour-se' mean?" Snipe asked sounding out the word carefully. He was holding up one of the papers I had been using to teach and pointing to a word. I spat my soup out all over Mush, who gave me a nasty glare.

"Snipe, I'se don' think you'se old enough to undahstand dat woid." I gasped, passing Mush my napkin to clean himself off.

"Well, whassit mean?"

Thankfully, Kloppman took over before one of the boys could.

"It means, Snipe, when a man and a woman are in love, that's what they do."

"Like kissin'?"

"Like kissing." Kloppman agreed. Snipeshooter seemed satisfied with his answer, and continued to read and eat.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, even when Itey and Swifty started flicking peas at each other, causing Jake to pour gravy over both of their heads, compared to _that_ little incident. After dinner, Pie Eater stayed back to help Kloppman and I clean, while the rest headed upstairs, Mush, Itey, and Swifty to the washroom, and the rest to bed.

Jack was already in bed by the time I got up to the bunkroom. He was in the middle of the bed, with one arm across his face to block the light. I crawled up and perched on the tiny bit of bed that was next to him.

"Jack. Move ovah." I muttered as I poked him in the side.

He reached over with the hand that wasn't over his face and felt around for me. He felt my face, and then set his palm on my forehead and pushed. I landed with a heavy thump on the floor. As I stood and dusted myself off, I growled. Then, reaching back up to the bunk, I yanked his pillow from under his head, and his blanket off, leaving him with the thin sheet. He glared at me over the side as I made up a bed on the floor.

"Well, if you'se gonna push me off, I'se gonna be comfahtable on da floah." I explained. He just sighed and scooted over to make room for me. I smirked.

* * *

I woke while it was still dark. I lay there in the darkness, listening for any sounds of consciousness from the others. Not sensing any, I slipped out of bed and padded out to the hall. The lamp in the washroom was turned down low, illuminating the room in a dull glow. I shut the door and turned up the wick in the lamp, brightening the room. I pulled off my shirts and unfastened the bandage, letting it unwrap itself and slide down my body, while I undid my trousers. Like I did every few days, I was going to try and get clean as best as I could with a rag and cold water. I missed showers so badly. I was reaching for a rag when I heard the door creak behind me. Footsteps. Soft humming. The person didn't notice me. Maybe they wouldn't if I could just get behind something…

The other person and I turned around at the same time. I'm not sure which one of us screamed louder. We both cut off our screams when we realized who the other person was.

"What da hell!" Jack exclaimed in a whisper. "Charley? Is dat you?"

I nodded while desperately trying to get at least my trousers back on.

"You'se… you'se a _goil_?" Jack asked, dumbfounded, as I finished doing up my fly. I crossed my arms over my bare chest, since my shirt was hanging on a hook by the door, on the other side of Jack. Not that I had much to see…

Jack's eyes traced my bare waist and stomach, lingering on my shoulders. I turned red and cleared my throat uncomfortably. He looked down at the floor.

"Whatta you'se doin' in heah now?" He mumbled.

"Same dings all you'se boys do in da mornin'." I answered. Now it was Jack's turn to blush.

"You'se saw ev'ryding, di'n't ya." He said slowly. I gave a soft chuckle.

"Not dat I'se was lookin', Jacky boy, but yeah, I'se did." We stood in silence, him looking at the floor and me looking at him, still topless. I sighed and uncrossed my arms. No need to be shy now, he'd already seen _everything_.

"How—how old are ya? Really, I'se mean." Jack asked looking up at my face. "Don' tell me 'leven. You'se not dat young, even I'se c'n tell." I snorted and muttered something about him knowing what an older girl looks like under my breath. Jack's gaze stayed steady on my face, waiting for an answer.

"Fifteen. I'se fifteen."

"Does anyone else know… dat you'se a goil, I'se means."

"Dove guessed."

"Who _are_ you'se, Charley?"

"Jack, it's eahly. Da udder boys…" As I started to protest, a clock in the distance rung out. One, two, twelve bells. Midnight.

"I'se got da time." Jack said, sitting cross legged on the floor and cradling his chin in his hand. I stepped around him and snatched my shirt off the hook and pulled it on.

I sat opposite of Jack on the cold washroom floor. I was glad to be able to tell someone everything that had happened. I hoped it would help me understand. But first I had a question for him.

"Jack… d'ya believe in… _dings_?"

"Like what sorta dings?"

"Odd dings… dings dat shouldn' happen." I tried to explain, not really sure of myself. Jack nodded yes.

"No mattah how crazy dis sounds, I'se swear it's true." I stated, before pausing and gathering my thoughts.

"I'se did fall down dat manhole, but not _dat_ manhole. Well, I'se guess it was da same manhole, but it was oldah. Much oldah. See, I fell down dat manhole on January foith, two dousand 'nd nine." Jack's brow wrinkled, but he didn't interrupt.

"When I'se climbed out, I'se didn' know what happened. I dought dat nuddin' happened. Den you'se found me. I'se still dunno what happened."

"Why was you'se dressed like a boy?"

"Um… I'se an actress, in my time. I'se was playin' a 'leven year old boy in a play 'bout newsboys. So's I'se was still in me costume."

"Foah munds… you'se hid dat for foah munds. Dat's a long, long time, kid."

"I'se knows, trust me."

Jack looked out the window. The moonlight fell through the window, playing across his features with its soft glow. All I could see was his profile, outlined by the moon's light.

"You'se won' tell anyone, will you'se?" I asked quietly. He shook his head.

"Nada soul." He gazed out the window a little longer. "We'se should go back to bed."

* * *

Kloppman woke us up with his usual banging and hollering, which he only did to disguise his affection for each of the boys. We went about our normal morning routine or trying to get clean, shaving, getting dressed, all while yelling, hassling, and shoving. No one seemed to notice that Jack seemed extremely uncomfortable. I couldn't help but smirk.

After getting my papers, I headed out. When I had first started selling papers, Jack had showed me a trick to make it easy to carry the large stacks of papers. I wore a short loop of rope across my chest, and then folded my papers across it so they hung at my side, like my messenger bag for school had done. Would do. In a hundred and ten years. It also left both hands free.

I had sold a good bit of my stack of papers when I wandered into the wrong alley. There was two good for nothing street rats down it, both of whom decided that the little newsie needed a good soaking. They both were older street rats, and I knew I didn't want to have to fight both of them. Especially not when one came towards me with a knife.

"Uh, 'scuse me, sirs. I'se in da wrong alley. I'se goin' now." I said hopefully, backing towards the opening of the alley.

"Nah. You'se ain't goin' anywheres." The one with the knife grinned. I noticed he was missing more than a few teeth.

Suddenly, he lunged at me. I stepped out of the way, and the momentum carried him past me and into a pile of crates. He was out of my hair for a minute, so I turned to his buddy.

When Jack found me, the one with the knife lay unconscious on the cobbles of the alley, while I held the other one by the collar and punched his face, repeatedly. Jack had to pull me off of him.

"He's done! He's done! Let him go!" Jack shouted in my ear as he pulled me away. Once Jack had wrestled me off the guy, he took off running out of the alley. Jack finally stopped several blocks away.

"Is you'se mad? D'ya know what da bulls would do to ya if they found ya?"

"I'se was defendin' meself!" I protested, wiping the blood from under my nose.

"No. Defendin' is when you'se beat dem up, and run. Dat was soakin dem."

Jack looked at me, closer this time. His eyes widened. I know I wasn't looking to pretty after that, but really? I caught my reflection in a window and jumped.

"Is dat me?" I asked softly.

My nose was crooked, definitely broken, and I had the start of what looked to be two extraordinary shiners. The skin on one cheek was scraped raw, and I had a cut in front of one of my ears. I looked at my hands. My fingers were swollen and bruised, and my knuckles were dripping blood onto the pavement.

"I'se look as bad as dey'se do."

Jack started laughing as he took my hand to lead me home. He erupted in chuckles every few minutes the entire way home.

The look on the other boys faces as they came in later that night was priceless. By then, one eye had swollen completely shut, and the other one was solid purple the entire way around.

"Who did dat?" Racetrack asked, pounding his fist against his other hand.

"Eh, some street rats." Jack commented lazily. "You'se should see what he did to dem."

They boys laughed at this and there was a lot of back slapping and shoulder punching. Apparently, I was a full blown newsie, now. Dinner was a riotous affair, even if I couldn't eat because my jaw was so swollen. This time, it was Jack who stayed back to help clear the table. I figured out why when he stopped me on the stairs. He was smirking.

"I'se was dinking…" He started quietly.

"Always a dangerous ding." I snorted. He glared before continuing.

"I'se was dinking, and I'se realized… I'se gets ta sleep wid a goil evahy night." He smirked bigger.

I just looked at him out of the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"Jack Kelly, if I'se feel _anything_ of yours where it don' belong, I'se gonna make shoah ya sleep wid da fishes."

He certainly looked downcast at that. I felt bad. I didn't want to hurt him, because I still really, _really_ liked him, but I had an image to maintain. The image of an eleven year old boy. Fooling around with Jack would _not_ help that. As badly as I might want to. Aw geez. I might need to find another bunk mate. Maybe Blink would let me share with him.

"Bed, Cowboy." I pointed up the stairs.

"What about you'se?" He said stubbornly.

"I'se gonna put a wet rag on dis eye o' mine, 'nd see if I'se can' get da swelling down."

Jack reached out a hand like he was going to touch my cheek. I pulled away and shook my head. Just then, Itey walked out of the washroom.

"You'se comin' ta bed?" He yawned.

"Yeah, we'se comin'." Jack mumbled. I tey wandered into the bunkroom, already stripping off his shirt. I gave Jack a push up the stairs and I followed him up.

After I was done bathing my eye, I climbed into bed. Jack was softly snoring, with a soft smile on his face. _What are you dreamin' 'bout, Jacky?_ I wondered. As I slid in next to him, he put an arm around my waist. I threw it off and elbowed him for his cheek. The last thing I heard before I drifted to sleep was,

"You'se shoah soaked dem, Charley. I'se proud."

* * *

**Aww… that was kind of a cute chapter. And an awkward chapter.**

**Anyways, thanks for all your reviews and kind words. They got me through a bad day! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Heya. Thanks for all of your reviews! I must say, they are the only thing keeping my plot bunny alive. Thanks for sticking with me, and let see where this goes.**

**Also, someone wrote me a review cheering on "Hammy" a few chapters back, and I couldn't figure out if it was for me or the character. Which made me realize, "Hambone" and "HamAndCheese" are reeeeaallly close. Oops.**

**Disclaimer: No. I still don't own them. *sigh***

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As sore as I was when I woke up the morning after my beating, I still had to be thankful for it. Especially since Dove had figure out who I was, and Jack had walked in on my midnight toilet. The beating was one more thing to help strengthen my quickly crumbling identity. My poor beaten face held no traces of anything feminine anymore, and since Jack had told the others I gave as good as I got, that cleared the rest of the boys' minds about me being, well, not a boy. Because girls just don't fight back. And the ones that did, certainly never won. I swore under my breath as I tried to stretch my knotted muscles. I did enjoy being able to swear freely around the boys, though, and I even picked up some new curses.

"Dat's charmin'." Jack mumbled as he buried his face in the pillow.

"Yeah, yeah." I groused, slipping out of the bunk and setting my feet on the freezing floor. _Geez, I hope spring comes soon._ I thought.

I let myself be carried along in the flood of noisy boys to the washroom, where I snagged a wet rag to wash my eye with. I thought I was looking better, since I could open it now, until I caught a glance of my reflection in the looking glass. I yelled in surprise.

Mush laughed at my horrified expression. "You'se lookin' as pretty as Blink, dere!"

"Least he ain't as dumb as you'se!" Blink shot back, hurling a towel at Mush. I ducked so it wouldn't hit me. A bar of soap was tossed the other way, followed by and handful of freezing water, which drenched me instead of its target. I turned to glare at Mush, who was looking innocently the other way. I shook my soaking wet hair all over him as the other boys hooted. I never took part in the morning battle.

Mush caught me in a headlock and knuckled the top of my head. I gagged. He apparently hadn't washed this morning. My fingers scrabbled around as I reached for something I had seen earlier. My fingers caught the edge of the bucket, and I tipped it over Mush's head, drenching him in water. I let the bucket settle on his head like a helmet. He let go of me to get it off, laughing the entire time.

"Good one, Hambone." He chuckled shaking the water out of his eyes.

"Least you'se clean now, Mush!"

We swept out to the street in our usual pack, bouncing off everything while we caroused down the street to the distribution center.

After the rest of our morning antics, I got my usual fifty papers, and started to head out. Jack noticed though,

"Skittery! Sell wid Hambone taday. I'se wants him home in one piece."

Skittery grumbled at his bum luck, and I fumed. I could take care of myself. I'd already proven that. Jack just didn't want anything to happen to me because I was now a _girl_ to him. And since I was a girl, he had gotten very cuddly last night. I needed to find a new bunk for tonight.

Once we were out of Jack's sight, I turned to Skittery.

"You'se don' hafta sell wid me. I'se c'n watch meself."

"Nah. Cowboy'd soak me for leavin' you." Skittery said in his lightly accented, but gloomy voice.

"You'se just arguin' for da sake o' arguin'." I said, slightly miffed. Skittery shrugged and continued to follow me. I stopped at my normal corner. Skittery took one side of the corner, and I took the other, selling our papers at a good pace.

The headlines were especially good today. Martha Place had just been executed in Sing Sing prison, the first woman to die by electric chair. I felt horrible to be so callous about her death, but if she sold papers for me, she sold papers. And I would be able to eat.

Skittery and I ended up not only selling out our morning editions, but also the afternoon and evening ones, too. As we were making our way back to the lodging house, Jack joined us.

"'ey, danks, Skitts, for watchin' him. I gotta talk ta him, so's you'se c'n go on home."

Skittery just shrugged and continued walking. Jack motioned for me to follow him. I did, unhappily.

"Listen, Charley, I'se dink maybe you'se should tell da uddah boys 'bout you'se being a goil." Jack stated calmly, stopping at a street corner to lean against the lamp post there.

"What? No, Jack. I'se can't!"

"Why not?"

"D'ya know what life is like for goils? I'se can' do dat, Jack."

Jack looked nonchalantly away, which made me even angrier. Why didn't he understand? I couldn't work in the sweatshops—not after the freedom of being a newsie.

"You'se a goil. You'se shouldn' be runnin' out on da streets, dressed like a boy."

"Dis is about da fight, isn' it? You'se mad because I'se won, 'nd I di'n't need no boy ta save me. Or is it dat I nevah told you I'se was a goil? Jack, all you'se dink 'bout is yoahself! What 'bout me? You'se want me ta die of ovahwoik? You'se wan' me ta get caught in a bobbin machine and lose part o' me?" I growled, getting really steamed. Jack just smiled.

I stormed off, seeing red. Somehow, I made it back to the lodging house, but it was well after dark. I came into the bunkroom to find Jack on the bed, smoking a cigarette while he read. I turned on my heel and stalked back out. Blink caught me on the way out of the lodging house.

"'ey. Whatsamattah?" He asked, grabbing my arm. I jerked it away and snarled,

"Nothin'."

"Dat's bull, Charley." He said, using my real name. "Sit down 'nd tell me."

I sat heavily on the stairs, not looking at Blink.

"I'se jist a little upset 'bout dat Martha Place lady. Papes was sellin' so good tahday because o' her, but it seems wrong."

"Jack told me somedin' when I'se was foist stahtin' out. See, a family had jist been moidah'd. Eight kids, da oldest only ten. see, Jack told me dat it was okay to be sad for da headlines, but bein' sad wouldn' change nuddin'. I'se could be sad on me own time, he said, but when I'se was sellin', I'se had ta make da moidah sound good. Uddahwise, I'd nevah eat. Sad dings happ'n eahry day, Charley. All we'se c'n do is mouahn 'nd move on." Blink said, striking a match on the step and lighting a cigarette. I looked at him in surprise. He offered me the cigarette. I took it and let the poisonous smoke fill my lungs. I didn't care. I didn't bother to answer his rather deep speech, either.

"I'se knows you 'nd Cowboy was fightin'. I'se saw it. You'se wanna tell me what dat was 'bout?" He prodded me in the side with his elbow. I swatted him away and inhaled more of the cigarette.

"No." I crossed my arms stubbornly.

"You'se need anuddah place ta sleep?" He asked,

"Yeah, but I'se not easy ta sleep wid."

"I'se knows." Blink said quietly. "Me little bruddah used ta get da night terrahs real bad, too. I'se used to it."

I could see the memories in Blink's eye. A lot of the newsies had younger or older siblings, all dead and all gone. I did something that I was sure I would regret. I hugged him. Blink started, but then relaxed, ruffling my hair.

"Danks for bein' such a good friend, Blink." I murmured, letting him go. He smiled.

"No problem, kid. Le's go ta bed."

As I curled up next to Blink in his bunk, I reflected on how nice it was to have real friends… even if they thought you were a boy.

**Yay, morning fun and games! She's becomin' one o' da boys.**

**Read and review! I loooovvveee yoooouuuu!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Heya. This next chapter might be sort of aimless wandering, as Charlotte gets to know some of the other boys a little better after her tiff with Jack. Dear God this story's looking to be a long one.**

**Disclaimer: Nope. They're still not mine…**

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* * *

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I woke extremely early the next morning to go do my thing, and slipped out of the bed. Blink's sleepy voice came through the darkness,

"Charley? You'se okay?"

Darn it! I forgot who I was sleeping with. Jack was used to my nightly excursions, even before he knew what they meant. Blink wasn't used to them, yet.

"Yeah. I'se jist gonna visit da pot." I whispered back. It wasn't a lie. I was gonna visit the pot. And enjoy being a girl for a few minutes. There was a satisfied mumble as sleep over took Blink again.

* * *

I sensed someone watching me. I cracked open one eye to find Kloppman's weathered face looking back at me.

"Whaddayawan?" I yawned.

"What're you doing in Blink's bunk? I thought you shared with Jack?" Kloppman asked curiously.

"Me… Jack…fight… no…moah…sheah…" I murmured brokenly, burying my face back in the pillow I had taken from Blink in the night.

"Huh." Kloppman mused, before noticing me falling asleep. He pinched my ear and hauled me upright. I squealed in pain, rubbing my poor ear as he continued to wake the other boys. I gave the still slumbering Blink a shove to wake him up, and slid to the floor.

During the course of the day, I managed to get into a _huge_ spat with Blink. Apparently I made _some_ dig at his patch. I swear I didn't, he's just a drama queen. So, after storming away to sell the rest of my papers, I wandered into an alley for some quiet. And that's where Mush found me, banging my head against the brick wall of a building, hoping maybe I could pound out any memory of who I was, and start over. Or maybe pass out, and wake up in _my_ Brooklyn. Mush leaned against the wall next to me and crossed his arms, watching the traffic in the street go past.

"So… I'se takes it you'se 'nd Blink ain't gettin' alon' so good?" He said casually, as if I wasn't trying to bash my brains out next to him. I paused long enough to sigh dramatically at him, before letting my head wall against the wall with a thunk.

"C'mon, goily. We'se goin' home." Mush took my hand and started to pull me away from the wall. My head snapped up and I stared wide eyed at him.

"You'se don' need ta be so surprised." He laughed.

"Wha—who—did he—HOW?" I sputtered.

"I'se not as dumb as e'vahy one dinks. Da uddah boys, dey'se blind fools. Even _I'se_ knows a goil when I'se sees one."

"How?" I repeated dumbly.

"Ya hips is too big for ya waist." He grinned. I looked down and put a hand on either hip, smoothing down my clothing.

"Dey'se not _dat_ big." I snarled, following him.

"You'se comin'? Oah you'se gonna be a goil?" He called over his shoulder.

"I'se c'n stll soak ya, Mush." I reminded him, catching up.

"Like you'se did dis mornin'?"

"Shut up."

"So's when did you'se figuah it out?" I asked, trailing along beside Mush. I was desperate for answers, since my disguise was falling apart so rapidly.

"Dis mornin'." He answered vaguely.

"_When_ dis mornin'?"

"'bout when you'se soaked me wid da watah. You'se got yaself, too, 'nd ya shirt was stickin' to ya."

I made a noise of frustration. Mush smiled.

"How many uddahs know?" He asked.

"I dunno. Jack 'nd Spot's goil foah shoah."

"How lon' was you'se gonna try and keep dis up?" He put an arm around me, and steered me across a street, dodging wagons and carriages. I just shrugged. "Well, Ise won' tell nobody. So it's as lon' as you'se c'n keep it goin'."

"Danks." I sighed and took of my cap. Mush ruffled my hair before I could get my hat back on, making my hair stick out weird.

* * *

Later that night, I was playing a game of poker with Racetrack. By now, all the others playing against us had folded, and it was just him and I. I watched his face carefully for any signs about his hand. A slight flicker of annoyance crossed his face. I took that as a good sign for me. It was. I laid down a full house, to his flush.

"I'se nevah seen anybody play da way you'se do, Hambone. Coitanly not someone as youn' as you'se." Race track growled, gathering up that cards as I gathered up my winnings. I smirked. If only he knew we were the same age.

Kloppman came in to turn out the lights, and send us to bed. I looked up to see both Blink and Jack already in bed, backs to me. Apparently, I wasn't sleeping with either of them tonight. Mush saved me from standing awkwardly around until someone took pity on my by taking hold of my arm and maneuvering me to his bunk. I gave him a grateful smile.

When I got up early to wash up, Mush didn't comment at all. In fact, he stayed fast asleep. He was a good bunkmate for me. Setting a bomb off next to his head wouldn't wake him. I crawled back into bed a few minutes later, and he was still snoring softly. _This will work out well._ I thought.

* * *

The next morning, I had that feeling of someone staring at me again. I cracked an eye to find Kloppman.

"Another fight?" He lifted an eyebrow. I nodded and yawned. I started to get out of bed, but Kloppman waved me back in. "It's Sunday." I was asleep before he could finish.

Mush shook me awake a few hours later. "C'mon… wake up. Hambone! Up."

"Nahhhh…" I moaned. He pulled the covers off, and I tucked my knees to my chin.

"I'se gonna tell evahyone you'se a go-il." He whispered in a sing songy voice.

"I'se up,I'se up." I grumbled, sliding out of bed onto the floor. "Whaddayawan'?"

"I'se boahd. Let's go do somethin'."

I looked at him. "You'se woke me up for dat?" He grinned widely and nodded. I started to dress. "Whatcha wanna do, den?"

"Racetrack's headed to da Sheepshead races. Wanna go wid?"

"Shoah." I yawned. Mush pulled me upright and out the door.

We caught up to Racetrack a few blocks later.

"Hiya, Race." Mush greeted him cheerfully.

"Hiya, Mush, Hambone. Whatcha up ta?" Racetrack asked with a friendly smile.

"Nuddin' much." Mush said, answering for both of us. "We'se was wondah'in' if we'se could go to da races wid ya?"

"Yeah, shoah. Moah da merriah." Racetrack laughed, and ruffled my hair. "Right, kid?"

I smiled and nodded. However, I was getting really sick of being called kid by everyone. "Shoah, kid." and "Right, kid?" and "Uh huh, kid." It was all getting quite old. I was ready to announce that I was really a fifteen year old girl just to put an end to being called "kid."

Mush glanced over at me and smiled. I had a mini heart attack until I realized that there was _no way_ that he could have heard my thoughts. Of course, I also had thought that there was no way to travel backward through time, and yet I still managed that. Mush opened his mouth and quickly dispelled any thoughts of mind reading.

"I'se heahs ya don' get alon' so well wid Spot, Hambone."

"Yeah. Ya poin' bein'?"

"How we'se gonna get ya ta da races?"

I pulled up short and looked away from my feet, where I had been looking for the past half hour. We were at the foot of the Brooklyn bridge. I looked at Racetrack in panic.

"It's fine." He laughed. "You'se wid me." I didn't look so sure, and he slung one arm around my shoulders, and one around Mush's, and together we sauntered into Brooklyn.

When we reached the races, Racetrack lead us through the crowds to a good spot near the rails, where we watched all the horses. Racetrack toyed with a nickel while watching the horses, trying to decide how to bet.

"I dink da sorrel." He finally said, pointing to a glowing red horse. I cocked my head and looked at it.

"Nah. I'se would bet on da black, or maybe da bay." I decided, motioning to two other horses. "Nah, definitely da black."

Racetrack scoffed. "Dat nag?"

"Yeah, dat nag. C'mon. I betcha a dime."

"Dat da horse wins, or jist beats da uddah?"

"Wins."

"Awright. You'se on." Racetrack spit in his hand and held it out for a shake. I did the same, much to my disgust.

The horses were guided into the gates as we watched in anticipation. The gates were opened and the horses rushed out, Racetrack's sorrel far in the lead. My little black was in the middle of the pack. We screamed out encouragements and curses.

It looked like Race's sorrel would win, but on the backside, he seemed to lose all his energy. At the same moment, my black found an opening and sprinted out to the lead.

"No! No! No! You stupid nag! Go! Get da lead outta ya feet!" Race hollered, pounding his fists on the rail.

My black crossed the line a full length ahead of the sorrel. Racetrack growled and handed me a dime. I laughed as Mush clapped me on the back.

"How dya _do_ dat?" Racetrack grumbled. I shrugged.

We continued to watch the races and cheer on our champions, but Race and I decided not to bet, since he was having an unlucky streak he claimed. He really just wasn't that good at the ponies, I think.

Later, Racetack had found a dice game going on and had joined. Mush and I crouched beside him to watch. Suddenly, he held out the dice to me.

"Blow on 'em."

"What?" I exclaimed.

"It's good luck for a goil to blow on da dice."

I swore. "Anuddah one? What's wrong wid me?"

"Blow on 'em and I'll tell ya." Racetrack shook the dice in front of my face. I blew lightly into his hands, and he rolled. I was too dazed to notice what he had rolled, but he was cheering and gathering up money. Racetrack looked over at me and saw my expression.

"C'mon. We'll take ya home, 'nd tell ya." He put an arm around my shoulders and helped me stand.

* * *

As we were making our way back through Manhattan, I finally spoke up.

"How'd ya know I'se is a goil?"

"Well," Racetrack took a puff of his cigar. "You'se ain't da quietest when you'se is sleepin'. You'se was talkin', 'nd you'se said, 'Can't let dem know. I'se gotta be tough. Don' wanna fight dough…' 'nd stuff like that." He took another puff.

"Dat coulda been anyding."

"But den I'se stahted watchin' you'se, 'nd noticed dat you only washed ya face in da mornin'. Nuddin' else. But you'se was always clean. I hoid ya get up in da middle of da night one time. So's I'se got up 'nd followed you'se…" He trailed off and blushed.

"You'se saw, di'n' you'se." I sighed.

"Nah… well, not _exactly_. I'se stuck me head in, and you'se took off ya shoit, and I'se saw dat you'se was all wrapped up, but I'se knows you'se wasn' hoit, since I'd seen Blink sock ya in da ribs dat mornin', and you'se di'n' really do much, 'cept try 'nd hit him back. So's I guessed dat you'se was a goil, 'nd di'n' want us ta know. I'se asked Jack if he knew anydin' 'bout it, 'nd he said dat yeah, you'se was a goil, but you'se was hidin' it so's you's could woik outside of da sweatshops."

"Why me?" I sighed.

"How old are you'se?" Racetrack asked me.

"Fifteen. Same as you'se."

"I'se don' know what's woase—bein' beat by a little kid, or by a goil." Racetrack sighed dramatically.

"Aww... poah little Racey. He got beat by a _goil_." I teased. I looked up just in time to run into someone's chest. A red bandanna hung around their neck. Jack.

"I'se dought you'se din't wanna tell no one." He said. I stepped back away from him so I could see him.

"Yeah, well, I'se douhgt you'se wasn' gonna tell."

"I'se di'n'. Race figuah'd it out."

"So did Mush." I shrugged. Jack looked surprised. "He's not as dumb as he looks!" I defended. Jack laughed.

"So's ya gonna tell da rest of dem?"

"Not yet. I wanna try ta make it ta May."

Jack just laughed. "Shoah, kid."

* * *

**Poor Charley. Everything's falling down around her head. These boys are just too darn smart for their own good. Will she make it to May? It all depends on if you guys review! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Heya! Okay, I've decided that I need to write during the day, when I'm awake, because you all are talking about things that happened, and I don't remember writing them. Thank you for all the reviews though, demanding she make it to May. Even if some of them threatened me with a good soaking if she doesn't…**

**Disclaimer: Haven't we been through this? I don't own them. However, according to skitteryissexy, I get Jack!**

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The weeks continued to drag on. Spring was rapidly approaching, and as the weather warmed, the boys' apparent dislike of bathing became more apparent. Maybe it was that I was a girl, or maybe it was that I was used to a certain level of personal hygiene, but I couldn't walk into the bunkroom without gagging. It wasn't as bad as it had been when it was colder, but c'mon, the water wasn't iced over anymore in the mornings. You could actually wash a little.

Apparently, my concerns were also Kloppman's. He woke us early one Sunday morning and announced,

"Okay, all you boys. I know that being clean is a terrible horrible thing, but you all are not coming back here until you are clean. I want all your laundry, and Jack? Take them all down to the docks and get them clean in the river."

We all looked groggily at each other, until Jack groaned,

"Okay, you'se bummahs. You'se hoid him, getcha laund'y tagethah, 'nd grab some soap 'nd towels."

As we all went to work, I managed to walk with Jack to the washroom to gather our toiletries.

"What're we'se gonna do?" I murmured.

"How shy are ya?" He whispered back with a smirk.

"What 'bout da kids? Dey'se don' need ta see dat, yet."

"Announce you'se a goil, 'nd I'll make shoah dat ya get sometime alone."

"Wid you'se watchin'." I accused. He blushed, but he didn't deny it. "Nevah mind. I'll handle it."

* * *

Jack had sent Snitch ahead to Spot with the message that pretty much all of the Manhattan newsies were coming over before leading the entire pack of us over the bridge into Brooklyn. When we reached the docks, Spot was waiting for us.

"So, Jacky boy. Snitch heah says you'se all is plannin' on usin da rivah." Spot smirked, arms crossed over his chest.

Jack laughed. "Yeah, Kloppman's decided not ta put up wid us nomoah."

Spot noticed me. "Rat." He greeted, tipping his hat.

"Sean." I tipped mine back. He turned back to Jack.

"Fine. You'se gots da docks ta yoahself for 'n houah."

As Spot quickly hurried away, Jack leaned over to me.

"What's his problem?"

"I'se dunno. Dat boy jist really don' like me." I shrugged. Jack turned away from me.

"Awright, boys! We'se got da docks for an houah!" He hollered. The boys cheered and ran towards the end of the pier, stripping along the way.

"I'se dought dey'se di'n' like ta bathe." I said aloud, but no one was around me. I shrugged and followed the rest of the boys.

I choose a spot to dive off the dock that was pretty far from the boys. There was also a stack of crates for me to strip behind. I landed in the water with a splash.

"Cold!" I shrieked as soon as I resurfaced.

I paddled over to the outskirts of the group. The water was so murky that I wasn't sure how we could get clean from it. However, it meant that no one could see anything below the water. Fine by me. I was gonna kill Kloppman once we got back. The boys all washed pretty quickly, and spent the rest of the time fooling around in the water, splashing and dunking each other. I treaded water on the very edge of the group, hoping I could sneak away, and get dressed without them noticing. Just before I started to swim away, I was pulled underwater by my foot.

I kicked out hard with my other foot and felt slick skin. Whatever it was released me and I shot to the surface as fast as I could swim. I gasped for air as soon as I broke the surface. Jack's head surfaced a few feet away from me. He was laughing! That son of a… he pulled me under. I prayed that he hadn't seen anything else. I looked out across at the other boys. Mush and Racetrack were treading water near each other and chuckling. I had a feeling they were involved. I let myself sink deeper into the water till just my eyes were above it. Maybe I could drown myself?

Jack motioned to the ladder that reached from the water up to the boxes that I left my clothes behind and mouthed,

"I'll keep dem busy." Then he swam over to the group. "Hey! Race ya around da buoy!"

The boys took off splashing and clamoring in the direction of the buoy. I took off in the opposite direction towards the pier I scrambled up that ladder before the boys could make the turn around the buoy and dove behind the boxes. Then I realized, my clothes were not where I had left them. In fact, they weren't in sight at all. All that was there was a very small towel.

The towel turned out to be just big enough to cover me, and I was forced to wait for the boys to get back and return my clothing. I sat down with my back against a box and waited. I didn't have to wait too long.

Soon, the whole pack of unclothed boys were swarming up ladders onto the dock, with Jack in the lead. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, face tilted towards the warm sun. A shadow fell across my face. Without opening my eyes, I said,

"Ya'd bettah be dressed, have me clodes in ya hand, 'nd an apology on ya lips."

"Yeah, I'se dressed, Princess." Jack growled. I opened my eyes to find him still shirtless, drying his hair with a towel. Close enough.

"Me clodes?"

"I'se don' have 'em."

"Racetrack!" I hollered. He too, came over, shirtless.

"Yeah?" He asked, lighting his cigar.

"I'se has a problem, 'nd I'se dinks dat you'se got da answah. Wheah's me clodes?"

Racetrack shrugged.

"Den find 'em!"

"Or what, Princess?" Jack snickered.

"Or I'se gonna soak ya."

"Eh, how're ya gonna do dat, Princess?" Racetrack smirked, following Jack's lead.

I smiled back and snatched Jack's shirt from where it lay beside him. I dropped it over my head, and let the towel fall from underneath it. The shirt was loose and came down to my knees. It was actually more like a dress. Except I had worn dresses that covered less.

"Hey!" Jack shouted. I shrugged and pouted innocently.

"Wouldn' want me ta be indecent, would ya, Jacky?"

He growled at me and stalked off to go find my clothes. I leaned back, enjoying the warm sun and the soft, worn fabric of Jack's shirt on my skin.

"Now might be a good time ta tell dat you'se a goil." Racetrack sighed, sitting next to me.

"It's not May yet."

"Tahmorrow's May. Jist tell 'em."

"_After_ I get my clothes back and I can get dressed."

A bundle was dropped in my lap. My clothes.

"C'n I'se get me shoit back?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. I just twirled my finger, indicating that they should turn around so I could change. They did, but not happily.

I pulled on my trousers under Jack's shirt, and then shed it and pulled on my own. I didn't bother with the wraps or my undershirt. It was too warm, anyways. I draped Jack's shirt over his head when I was done.

Jack, who towered over me, looked down at me, and straight down my shirt. One corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Yeah, I'se knows. Not like you'se ain't seen it befoah." I grumbled, pulling my shirt up a little. I slipped right back to where it was.

"So's I'se take it you'se plan on tellin'?" Jack asked.

"Nah. It ain't May yet." I smirked. "Let's see who figures it out."

* * *

**Weird, awkward chapter. But I love making things awkward. You try being the only girl in a group of a dozen guys, much less the only high school girl in a group of college guys, and not making things awkward constantly (And yes, I'm referring to me, not Charley. Though she seems to have a similar issue.). I think I thrive on awkward like some girls thrive on drama. I also think I need sleep…**

**Hugs to all who have reviewed and will review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Heya. Well, we've reached the big 1-0! Thanks to all who have stuck with me this long!**

**WARNING-minor swearing. Butterflywriter, you can slap me later.**

**Disclaimer- Though I've said it before, I'll say it again, I don't own the Newsies.**

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"So you'se really gonna make 'em wait til tahmahrrah?" Jack murmured to me as the flock of Manhattan newsboys made their way back to their home turf.

"Yup."

"You'se mean."

"Yup."

"But ya got a nice ass."

"Yu—huh?" I whipped around to face Jack. He had a huge smirk on his face. My eyes narrowed. _I will not blow up. I will not blow up. I will not blow up…_

"How would you know?" I snarled. _I will not blow up. I will not blow up._

"Da watah's clearah dan you'se dought."

_I will not blow up. I will not blow up. I will not blow up, because it's not May yet… Ah, screw it. May's tomorrow._

I slapped Jack. Hard. As hard as I could. He looked shocked and put a hand to his face. All the other boys turned at the sound. Eyes widened. Breaths were held. Mush and Racetrack's jaws hit the ground. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. You could almost hear the gears turning in the newsies heads. _Boys didn't slap other boys. Boys didn't take being slapped by other boys. Something's wrong…_

I stalked away from Jack, who growled, "Women."

"Huh?" All the other newsies chorused together in equal confusion. I had to work hard not to smile.

"Charley?" Blink asked.

"What? I'se a goil. You'se can' expect me ta not get mad 'bout him talkin' 'bout me like dat."

Blink made some incoherent noises.

"I'se don' dink it was da gettin' mad paht." Racetrack explained. Blink nodded rapidly.

"Oh, you'se mean it's da _goil_ paht dat you'se don' undahstand?" I wrinkled up my nose in confusion. "Why?"

None of the boys answered me, they just stared. It wasn't getting through. Slowly, comprehension dawned across their faces, followed by some serious blushing.

"You'se was in da washroom wid us." One newsie piped up.

"You'se slept in me bed." Blink said slowly.

"Mine, too." Crutchy realized.

"'nd Jack's." Pie Eater growled. "'nd _he_ knew. Bummah."

All of the older boys let out a frustrated groan at their poor luck.

"Aww like I'd go wid any o' you'se." I sneered.

"Hey, Jack?" Snoddy asked.

"Yeah?"

"Well, since Hambone's been treated like a boy for so lon', c'n we still treat her dat way?"

"I'se don' see why not." Jack shrugged. The boys looked at each other and grinned.

"Soak her!" They hollered. My eyes grew wide, and I took off, the pack of newsies hot on my heels. Jack watched and laughed. Spot had shown up to tell us that our time was up. He stopped beside Jack and watched our antics.

"What'd da rat do?"

"'e's a goil."

"Ouch. I'se knows ya 'hattan's c'n be mean wid da names, but dat's hahsh."

"No, Spot. Charley's not a 'Charles'. Charley's a 'Charlotte'."

"I'se not followin' ya, Jacky." Spot shook his head. Jack sighed, and pointed to me, before he used his hands to draw a curvy hourglass shape. Spot whistled.

"You'se don' say. Da rat's a _goil_?"

Jack nodded.

"How lon' have you'se had her?"

"Five munds."

"Daammnn." Spot dragged out the word in awe. "Why's she doin' dis, dough?"

"Ask her yaself." Jack whistled at us. We stopped running and he waved us over. We approached slowly, waiting for Jack's wrath.

"Hambone, Spot heah wan's a woid wid you'se." He announced. I looked nervously at Spot. "Go on." Jack said softly and gave me a push towards Spot.

I took a step and looked back at Jack. He rolled his eyes and sighed. I straightened my shoulders and took the last few steps towards Spot. Spot merely smirked and held out his arm to me. He led me to the end of a pier, where the other's couldn't hear our conversation. He sat on the end of the dock, feet dangling over the side, and patted the planks next to him. I sat carefully next to him.

Spot didn't speak at first. He looked out across the river. When he did speak, he said,

"So's you'se really is a goil?" I looked down at my chest.

"Uh, yeah."

"How much o' what you'se tol' me is true?"

"Most of it. I'se from Brooklyn. Jack did find me 'nd brin' me back ta 'hattan."

"How old?"

"Fifteen."

"How'd ya know me name?" Spot looked at me. I looked out across the river and leaned back on my hands. I took a deep breath and started my explanation.

"Spot, do you'se believe in dings? Like dings dat shouldn' happen?"

Spot nodded, and I started on my very long story.

* * *

"So I'se ya great grandfaddah?" Spot asked when I had finished.

"Great _great_ grandfaddah." I corrected.

"Huh." He reflected on what I had told him.

"You'se is handlin' dis pretty well."

"I'se has no idea what's happenin', but if it's whatcha say is happenin', den I guess you'se me family."

"'nd how's we'se gonna explain dat? I'se not supposed ta exist yet."

"You'se c'n be me… niece! Yeah, me niece." He said excitedly. I rolled my eyes. "What?" He asked. "It's not like it's gonna be dat big of a deal, but if we'se need an explanation, well, dere it is!"

"Okay, fine. Fine. But if I'se gonna be your 'niece', den I'se want's ta be able ta come ta Brooklyn, anytime."

"Shoah ding." He agreed, standing. He offered me a hand to help me up. "Best getcha back ta Jacky. Wouldn' wan' da lovah boy ta get jealous." Spot winked. I decked him and stalked off while he writhed on the planks holding his nose.

"What'd he say ta you'se?" Jack asked when I reached him. I continued past him, shaking out my hand. I swore under my breath. That kid had a hard head.

* * *

With my newly granted freedom in Brooklyn, I found myself spending a lot of my free time there, since it was as close as I could get to my real home. Even though it was pretty widely known throughout Brooklyn and Manhattan that I was a girl, I still dressed like a boy to keep the other boroughs from knowing. Sometimes Racetrack or Mush would tag along to "protect" me, but for the most part I was by myself over there. I was probably safer in Brooklyn then I was back in Manhattan. Here, no one could touch me, since no one lays a hand on one of Spot's girls and walks away unharmed. And even though I wasn't Spot's girl in that sense of the word, I was still "his", even if he and I were the only ones that knew the exact relationship.

Running with the Brooklyn newsies had it's good and bad parts. No one would mess with me, at least, not with them around. However, there was a lot of speculating about why Spot had chosen me to show special favor to. I finally had to explain,

"I'se his niece, ya bummahs!"

After that, they quickly lost interest in me, but they still allowed me to tag along. Another bright side of hanging with the Brookies was the fighting. They were always fighting. And I learned a lot just from watching them.

I watched as one of the Brooklyn newsies took on a Queens newsie that had wandered out of their territory and into ours. They wrestled and fought for a long time, neither of them getting any good hits in. Finally, the Queens boy caught the Brookie in a bear hug. It looked like Queens would be able to take down Brooklyn, and win the fight, when the Brookie's head shot forward, colliding with the Queens kid's nose. The fight was quickly finished, with Queens clearing out pretty fast. A group of boys gathered around the champion, slapping him on the back and teasing. I wriggled through the crowd.

The Brooklyn fighter looked down and spotted me. "'ey. You'se Spot's brat, ain'tcha?"

"I'se his niece. How'dya do dat?" I asked, all wide eyed and admiring.

"Do what?"

"Da headbutt. It was really neat!" I turned on my cute little girl charm. It worked wonders.

"Ah, da Belfast Kiss. Well, you'se take ya foahhead and smack it right against heah." He poked the bridge of my nose between my eyes. I crossed my eyes to look at it. He chuckled. "See's, dat breaks dere nose, 'nd sets dere eyes a watah'in'. Den dey'se don' wanna fight no moah."

"Teach me how ta fight."

"Nah. Spot would moidah me." He laughed, turning away.

I pouted and headed back towards Manhattan, since it was getting dark.

"Well you'se was out late." Jack's voice cut through the darkness of the bunkroom. I scrambled up into bed. An arm reached out and wrapped around my waist, pulling me up.

"I'se was in Brooklyn." I murmured as I curled up beside him.

"I'se knows." I felt him shift on the bed. "I'se don' like dat you'se ovah dere all da time. It worries me." He said after a moment.

"You'se don' trust me?"

"It's not dat… I'se just don' trust da Brookies."

"I'se one o' dem. And I'se Spot's family. It's safe for me dere."

Jack just sighed. He knew he wasn't going to win this one. "Okay. Jist be careful. G'night, Charley."

"G'night, Jack." I whispered sleepily, closing my eyes. Jack put his arm over my waist and drew me closer to him.

"Off, Jack." I growled, and the pressure stopped.

* * *

**Yay! It only took me ten chapters to reveal that she's a girl to everyone. And she **_**almost**_** made it to May! Awww… oh well. Anyways, let's see how much longer I can keep this up!**

**EXRTY! EXRTY! HAMANDCHEESE LOVES REVIEWS!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Heya. I have no clue of where I'm going with this anymore, but we'll get there. I mean, Charley's gotta make it to at least mid-August… Anyhoo, we're off and runnin'!**

**Disclaimer- While I have made a new newsie fangirl, I still don't own the newsies themselves…**

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I woke up early the next morning like I always did. This morning though, I woke up to Jack's face buried in the back of my neck and his arm around my waist, holding me tightly to him. Very cozy. Too cozy for me, thanks. I tried to roll out from under Jack's arm and get up. He tightened his grip, and resettled his nose in my short black hair.

"No. Don' go. You'se warm." He muttered sleepily.

"I'se gotta get ready. I'se'll be back in a minute." I whispered back, still struggling against him.

"I'se'll make shoah dat you'se get some time alone in dere latah." I stopped my struggling for a minute and thought. True, I didn't really want to get up, since I was warm, and I was with Jack, which always made me happy. However, I know that the chances of his plan actually working were slim to none. But I _was_ cuddled up with Jack in his bunk… I relented and settled back into bed.

"Ya knows da uddahs'll soak ya if dey catch you'se like dis."

"Let 'em." He whispered before drifting off to sleep again.

I felt warm fuzzies. Jack was the guy who would fight for me. Jack would fight his friends for me. It had to be too good to be true. I mentally slapped myself. Jack was a teenage boy. Jack will break your heart. It's what they do.

* * *

I woke up again a little while later to find two pairs of curious brown eyes, and a single blue eye staring at me. One of the pairs of brown eyes wobbled a little. Racetrack was standing on his tiptoes to see over the edge of the bunk.

"Mornin'?" I yawned. Jack woke and moved to rest his chin on my shoulder to look at the other boys. Their eyes narrowed. I glanced down at Jack to find him smirking.

I shoved him off of me, and gave Racetrack a push, causing him to topple into Mush, who knocked over Blink. Dominoes! I slipped off of the bunk, my shirt getting caught and pulling up as I slid down. I unhooked it just before it managed to show anything, and looked down to find the three boys looking up eagerly at me.

"You'se people's are disgustin'." I growled softly. Then I spoke up so they all could hear me. "I'se goin' in da washroom. Anyone a' ya bummahs come in befoah I'se comes out, 'nd you'se gonna get soaked."

And with that, I turned on my heel and marched into the washroom.

When I exited a few moments later, I nearly tripped over Blink and Racetrack, who were sitting with their ears to the door. They fell over backward, landing on their butts as I pulled the door open.

"Really? Whatdya dink I'se do in dere? Sheesh!"

"Jack! Ya boys is getting ridiculous." I hollered as I stomped into the bunkroom. "Dey'se was listening at da washroom doah!"

"Yeah? And?" He grumbled, slipping out of the bunk. I pulled on my trousers and over shirt.

"You'se wanna remind dem dat I'se c'n still soak da bastids?"

"I'se'll let you'se do dat." He smirked. I growled.

"You'se goin' ta Brooklyn afta sellin'?" He asked, shrugging on his suspenders.

"Yeah."

"Awright."

* * *

The headlines were slow again today. It was taking us longer then we wanted to sell out each edition, and by the time we sold out our morning editions, the afternoon editions were already off the presses and stacked in Weasel's cage. It was really disheartening.

I ended up taking only half my normal count of afternoon editions, considering that I had sold my mornings with a lot of charm, a little acting, and a whole lot of smooth lying. As much as newsies hate to say that we lie, that's exactly what I did. It went way beyond just improving the truth. Let's just say that my poor, poor mother was dying of malaria, and the money I got from selling these papers could buy her medicine to heal her. I think half of my papers were bought out of amusement.

I had three left of my afternoon edition, and was getting more and more desperate. Finally, I did something that I hated doing—I broke down and cried. I sat on a step and sobbed my little heart out. It didn't take long for several kind-hearted rich women to scurry over to see what was troubling my little eleven year old alter ego.

"What's wrong, dear?" One of them cooed, sitting delicately on the step beside me.

"M-me muddah's sick 'nd I'se can' sell me papes so's I'se can' get her medicine, 'nd me faddah's gone so' it's just me lookin' afta me muddah 'nd me five little sistahs 'nd… waahhhhh!" I bawled. They shushed and cooed "there there."-s and rubbed my back. When I had calmed down to just sniffling and hiccupping, they each gave me a nickel and took my last three papers.

"Dank you." I sniffled, and they left, after one last pat on the head. As soon as they were out of sight, I stopped my sniffing and hiccupping.

"Five sistahs? Fifteen minutes ago, you'se only had dree." Racetrack snickered, swinging himself down onto the step next to me.

I shrugged. "Guess she had twins."

Racetrack laughed. "Your dead muddah's havin' twins? You'se really do got a problem." I elbowed him in the ribs for the jab at my mother. Even if she wasn't _dead_, per say, she still didn't exist yet, and I really missed her.

"Sorry." Racetrack mumbled. I just shrugged.

"You'se really good at da whole cry-baby li'l kid, ding, dough. D'you'se do dat da foist day?"

"Nah, not quite. Close, dough. Just widout me dead muddah and all da watahwoiks."

Racetrack laughed. "Yeah, now I'se see's why ya got called 'Hambone'."

"I'se can do even bettah dan dat."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Pick out someone, 'nd I bet you'se I can sell dem a pape."

Racetrack smirked and handed me one of his last few papers. He scanned the crowd. "Dere. Dat one." He pointed to a woman with a baby on her back, carrying a basket of laundry. She would have been a hard sell for an eighteen year old boy, but certainly not for an eleven year old.

"I'se don't dink dat you'se coulda picked a hahdah poi-son." I sneered sarcastically. I skimmed the headlines, and found the perfect one.

"EXTRY, EXTRY! Baby snatchahs takin' young children right from da muddah's ahms! Is yoah young'ns safe?" I hollered, waving the paper.

The woman's head snapped up and she hurried over to me.

"I'll take a paper, please." She gasped, her face flushed with excitement and fear. I handed her the paper, and accepted her penny.

As she continued on her way I looked down at Race and smirked.

"Aw, dat was too easy. Try 'im." He pointed to a burly workman. He was covered in soot. I squinched up my nose as I thumbed through another paper for the right headline.

"Extry, extry! Blacksmith shop burns to da ground! Apprentice suspected of ahson!"

The smith started to saunter towards me, but then apparently thought better of spending a penny on a newsboy's lie.

"Find out if yoah new 'pprentice is da culprit!" I bawled desperately. He turned back and came over to me, silently buying a paper.

Race handed me another paper and pointed to another person, smirking the entire time. We continued to play this game until all of his papers were sold.

"I'se dinks dat I'se gots da bettah end of _dat_ deal." Racetrack snickered as we headed away from the corner.

"Huh?"

"You'se sold all me papes, and I'se gots ta leahn how you'se do it."

"Yeah, yeah. Lucky you'se." I grumbled as I turned down a street.

"'ey. Wheah you'se goin'?" Racetrack stopped. I stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Brooklyn." I said. _Obviously._ I added in my head. Racetrack shook his head.

"Fine. Come back befoah dahk."

"Yes, _Muddah_."

* * *

It was a long walk to Brooklyn, but it was nearly always worth it. Until you got jumped by street rats.

I had just crossed the bridged into Brooklyn when they came out of a darkened alley. They weren't Brooklyn newsies, Brooklyn newsies used their wiles and cunning to fight. These ones relied on brute strength instead. Must be from Queens.

I ducked under a heavy fist thrown at my head, dashing in to pummel his ribs, before ducking out of reach of him again. I could see his two buddies slinking around behind me. I just hoped they didn't plan on attacking me before I could finish with Ham-Hands here.

Ham-Hands swung at me again, and again missed. I went for the ribs again. He doubled over gasping. I grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into me knee. Pain shot up my leg, but I was too hopped up on adrenaline to notice. I didn't know if he was conscious or not, but Ham-Hands was out of my way for the time being.

I turned towards the other two. They looked familiar, but I didn't really have time to place them. I figured it out when one pulled out a knife and smirked.

"Really, boys? 'membah what happened last time we'se did dis?" I chided. The one with the knife smirked even wider.

"'pparently not." I shrugged. ""sokay, we'll jist try dis again."

This battle unfolded very much like the first, except it wasn't Jack who pulled me off. This time it was a Brooklyn newsie. The one that taught me the Belfast Kiss. What was his name? Bear. He was Bear. I could see why, since he was crushing me in a bear hug as he carried me away from the fight.

"You'se really shouldn' do dat. It's not healthy." Bear growled in his low voice as he set me on a curb. He crouched in front of me and inspected my face. "Eh, you'se got hit pretty bad. Best see Spot."

Ignoring my protests, Bear picked me up in his enormous, bulky arms and cradled me, striding off toward the Brooklyn lodging house.

* * *

Bear set me down on one of the lower bunks and went to fetch Spot. Spot caught one look at me and rounded angrily on Bear.

"What happened ta her? I'se sweah, Beah, if dis is yoah fault…" Spot snarled. Bear held up his hands and answered calmly,

"Nah. Some Queens boys got her."

"Huh. How many?"

"Dree of dem."

"Aw. Poah Princess. Nevah stood a chance." Spot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He apparently thought that I had been knocked senseless.

"You'se should see what da Princess did ta dem." Bear chuckled.

"Huh?" Spot's head snapped up. "She won?"

"I'se had ta pull 'er off."

"No way."

"Yes way." I groaned. Spot and Bear jumped. I guess they both thought I was out. Spot swaggered over.

"Ah, you'se awake." He smirked.

"Yeah." I groused, wrinkling my nose. Pain shot across my face, making me groan and curse.

"'ey, 'ey. C'mere." Spot grabbed my shoulders and leaned me up against the headboard. He set his hand on my cheek and rubbed my cheekbone as he studied my wounds. Spot was being way too nice. Something was wrong with him. I squirmed.

"'ey, 'ey. No fussin'." He murmured. Which of course made me fuss more. He stuck out his tongue to the side in concentration. And then he seized my nose and shoved it back into place. Next thing I knew, my fist was hitting him square between his eyes. He rocked backward.

"Now I'se see's why Jack di'n' set dat da foist time, Princess."

"I'se not yoah Princess." I snarled.

"Oh yeah?" Spot cocked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because I'se ain'tcha goil, Spot. Dat's Dove."

"Yeah, I'se knows. Dove's da queen a' Brooklyn. So's you'se da princess, Princess."

I growled at him. My nose was hurting, my knee was hurting, my ribs were hurting, and so were my knuckles. I didn't feel like arguing the point.

"Awright, now dat we'se gotcha nose done, what else hoits?" Spot asked, resettling himself across from me on the bunk. I glanced at Bear. Spot motioned for him to leave, and waited for him to shut the door. Spot turned back to me, waiting for my answer. I just pressed my lips together.

"Fine. Don' tell me. I'se'll jist feel around til I'se find it." Spot shrugged.

"My ribs! Sheesh, don' feel me up!" I squealed when he reached for me.

"C'n I'se see?"

"No."

"Geez. I'se not lookin' ta see you'se wid ya shoit off. I'se just wanna make shoah dat dey'se di'n' break nuddin dat could hoit ya insides." He lectured. "What kinda guy d'ya dink I'se is? You'se me great great grandbrat."

I narrowed my eyes and lifted my shirt. I was thankful that I decided to keep wrapping my chest, since I had gotten tired of the boys looking down my shirt. Spot just raised an eyebrow when I tugged my shirt off over my head.

"Shaddup." I grumbled as he poked at the rapidly forming bruises. "Ya got a smoke?" I asked, and he handed me a cigarette and lit it for me.

"Turn around. Da bummahs got ya back too." He mumbled as he continued his inspection. I turned so that I was sitting on the edge of the bed, with my feet on the floor.

Spot jabbed at a bruise that was forming over one of my kidneys. I yelped and sat up, almost dropping my precious cigarette. I backhanded Spot.

"Be a li'l gentlah."

"Yeah. I'se dink I'se will be." Spot said, rubbing his face.

And that's how Racetrack found me, shirtless, hunched over, elbows on my knees, with a slowly smoldering cigarette dangling from my lips while Spot poked at the bruises on my back.

"Don't ask." I growled when he opened his mouth.

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**Poor Spot, I'm so mean to him. Mwahahaha!**

**Do I really need to remind you at this point? Read and review, please!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Heya! I'm on a writing spree right now, since I'm currently at Butterflywriter's house, and we're on the second round of Newsies tonight, and I'm feeling very creative with a red bandanna around my neck. I'm a dork. And I'm sorry if I made Spot fluffy in the last chapter, but I'm getting bored with "Jack Jack Jack Jack Blink Jack Jack Mush Jack Racetrack Jack Jack Jack Jack…" Though, judging by reviews, you liked it? *shakes head* I don't understand it. Moving on…**

**WARNING- More minor swearing.**

**Disclaimer: While this should still be assumed, I don't own the Newsies.**

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"So you'se mind tellin' me what dat was 'bout?" Racetrack asked as he dragged me through the dark streets of Brooklyn. Bear walked a few paces behind us to make sure we made it safely out of Brooklyn.

"I'e got in a li'l fight. No big deal." I stopped to rest, since my knee was throbbing, and Racetrack was panting under my weight.

"No big deal? I'se get sent ta fetch ya home, 'nd I find ya topless wid da King o' Brooklyn!"

"Aw, you'se blowin' dings _way_ outta propoahtion. I'se was wrapped up. 'nd he's me uncle, for cryin' out loud. 'nd you'se missed me punchin' him when he reset my nose."

"You'se punched da guy dat fixed ya nose?" Racetrack asked cynically.

"Yeah… sohta like a knee-joik reaction."

Racetrack just rolled his eyes. We reached the foot of the bridge and turned to say goodbye to Bear, but he'd all ready faded away into the night. Race turned his back to me and crouched a little so I could get on his back.

"Okay. Get on. I'se only gonna offah dis foah tonight. Jist 'cause you'se walking so slow, 'nd I'se wanna go ta bed."

I climbed up, and Racetrack straightened up and headed across the bridge. I started to fall asleep with the rocking motion of Racetrack's gait. He let me down in the entry way of the lodging house.

"Danks, Racetrack." I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. I ascended the stairs, leaving Race standing dazedly in the hall below.

I slipped in the bunkroom quietly and was greeted by the soft rumble of many boys snoring. Slinking over the bunk, I climbed up and flopped down next to Jack. Or rather, on Jack, since he was hogging the bed.

"Oof!" He groaned. "You'se was out late."

"I'se got inta a li'l trouble in Brooklyn. It's fine."

"Trouble in Brooklyn? Dat's not fine." He argued.

"I'se not talkin' 'bout it tonight." I stated, trying to find somewhere on the bed that Jack wasn't occupying. "Move over!"

He obliged, but barely. He carelessly flung an arm over me like normal. The heel of his hand hit my nose. My eyes started to water, and I bit back a yell.

"Jack! Me nose is broken! Cahful!" I whispered. He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow.

"What weah you'se doin' tahnight?"

"A fight! I'se got in a fight!" My voice was muffled from my hand being held over my nose as I rocked, trying not to scream.

"Wid who?"

"Wid you'se if ya don't shaddup 'nd let me sleep!" Blink growled from his bunk. Jack flopped back on the bed dramatically.

* * *

"Mm." Jack sighed as he snuggled closer to me the next morning. "Good mornin', beauti—ahh!"

Jack gave a yell of surprise and toppled off the bunk. I leaned over the edge and looked down at him.

"I'se toldya I'se got inta a fight." I reminded him. He nodded mutely. I swung down from the bunk and headed off to the washroom.

I looked in the mirror, and decided that it wasn't all that bad. A few scrapes here and there. A swollen nose. Two faint black eyes. Nothing to fall out of bed about. I shrugged and finished my morning routine.

* * *

I was trying to sell my papers, but Jack wouldn't stop following me and hounding me about last night. I finally got sick of it and rounded on him, pinning him against a wall.

"Leave me alone!"

"Tell me what happened!"

"I got jumped by some Queens boys. Beah pulled me off 'nd took me ta Spot. Spot reset me nose, I punched Spot. Spot gave me a cigarette ta calm me down, and checked for broken ribs. Dat's it."

"You'se hit Spot? What's dat make, two times? Why hasn' he killed you'se yet?"

"Actually, I'se dink it's been dree times. 'nd it's cause I'se his niece, ya moron."

"Huh." Jack huffed. That was his frustrated noise. He only made it whenever someone was being really argumentative. I heard it a lot.

"C'n I'se sell me papes, now?"

Jack looked down and smirked. "I'se like's a goil dat's a li'l rough."

I realized that I still had him pinned to the wall, my hands gripping his upper arms to hold him there. I let him go and stomped away.

Gah! Why did Jack always know the wrong thing to say? Or maybe it was the right thing… but he always could say just the thing to make me stammer, or blush, or just simply stop thinking. That boy knew what buttons to push to get me to do anything. I sold my papers with a vengeance, snarling out the headlines, slapping down papers and snatching pennies.

"Geez! You'se suppose'ta dank dem!" Racetrack reprimanded me, before tipping his hat and murmuring thanks to my last customer for me. I just gave Racetrack a nasty look.

"What's gotten inta you'se?" He questioned when I nearly threw a paper at a kid.

"Jack."

"Oh boy. Now I'se see's why I'se gotta be da one ta tell ya. Danks, Jack." Racetrack grumbled to himself.

"Tell me what?" I continued hawking my papers without looking at him.

"Dat you'se can' go ovah ta Brooklyn tahnight."

"I'll go wheahevah I damn well please." I said, oddly calm. Racetrack watched me nervously.

"It's not me dat's sayin' it. Dat's _all_ Jack." Race held up his hands.

"Well den tell Jack dat I'se goin' ovah dere. Now scram. You'se messin' up my sellin'."

Racetrack shook his head and disappeared around a corner, hopefully to go tell Jack my answer. Apparently Racetrack did as I hoped, because twenty minutes later, Jack came storming around the corner, unsold papers in hand.

"Why are you'se goin' ta Brooklyn tahnight?" He growled at me, standing nose to nose.

"Why are you'se tryin'a stop me?" I growled back.

"It's not safe for you'se dere!"

"It's not safe for me anywheah! It's da same boys dat jumped me in 'hattan."

"But heah I'se can look out aftah you'se."

"Spot can too."

"Yeah, he's doin' a real good job." Jack said sarcastically.

"I'se looks bettah dan when you'se got me outta da last fight." I cocked an eyebrow, which I had finally manage to perfect after hours of watching Jack and practicing in shop windows. Jack let his eyes rover over my face.

"Huh. You'se do." He sighed. "Ah. I'se knows what it is. Ya nose is straight.

"Yeah, no danks ta you'se!"

"Why? Why dya wanna go ovah dere?"

"Spot said he'd teach me to fight." Okay, so Spot didn't say that, but he would still teach me… I think. Jack snorted.

"You'se knows how ta fight, it's da protectin' yaself dat you'se needs help wid."

"Den Spot c'n show me dat."

"If I'se teaches ya dat, will ya stay in 'hattan for tahnight?" Jack asked me softly.

I cocked my head to the side and set the tip of my index finger on my chin, thinking. "Yeah. But you'se gotta show me tahnight."

"Awright. Deal." Jack held out his hand, not spitting in it for my sake. I shook it.

* * *

"Mush!" Jack called from downstairs when we got back to the lodging house. Mush came obediently. "C'meah. I'se needs some help." Mush just shrugged and followed Jack and I out into the alley behind the lodging house.

"Okay, so you'se knows how ta hit, right?" Jack asked me. I gave him a nasty look.

"You'se wanna find out?"

Jack held up his hands and continued. "I'se jist guessin' heah, but you'se seems ta take a lot of hits when you'se fightin', even dough you'se hit back. You'se give as good as you'se gets. But see, da trick is ta give bettah den you'se gets."

"So hit hahdah?"

"No, don' get hit!" Jack sighed. "Mush, c'mere."

Mush pushed off the wall that he was leaning on and stepped over to Jack.

"Okay, watch. When Mush takes a swin' at me, I'se can eiddah duck," Mush swung at Jack, and Jack ducked under his fist, "Or I'se can block da hit." Mush sent a jab at Jack's ribs and Jack tucked his arm to his side, so Mush couldn't hit his side.

"Now you'se try. Don' break her, Mush."

"I'se dink Queens beat me to it." Mush said under his breath, afraid to spark the temper I had inherited from Spot. He stepped in front of me, holding his hands up in front of him like a boxer.

"Yeah. Jist watch her ribs'nd her nose."

"You'se watch _your_ nose." I growled under my breath, before facing Mush and assuming the same position.

Mush made slow, wide swings and gentle jabs at me as I learned how to block. He made sure to pull his punches, in case I messed up. He started swinging faster and faster the quicker I responded, until we were sparring at a normal speed. Mush sent a jab to my face, but forgot to pull it. It landed square between my eyes, dropping me to the pavement.

"Geez! Hambone, I'se sorry!" Mush crouched beside me and wiped at the blood trickling out of my nose. "I'se din't mean ta!"

"It's okay. You'se just don' know ya own strength!" I groaned.

"'nd anuddah ding," Jack said lazily from his spot against a wall. "You'se gotta keep ya hands up, 'nd ya chin tucked, so _dat_ doesn't happen."

"Danks for tellin' me dat now." I moaned. I held out a hand to him. "Help a lady up?"

Jack barely stifled his laughter as he pulled me to my feet. He wrapped an arm around my head and chuckled as I squirmed trying to get out of it.

"I'se dinks ya got it, Ham. Mush, danks for helpin'."

Mush tipped his hat and disappeared in the back door of the lodging house. Racetrack leaned out the back door.

"Hey, Charley! Up for a game a' pokah?"

"As long as you'se up ta losin'."

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**Yay, more mushy (hee hee, Mushy.) stuff. Thanks for all the reviews and favorites, and keep up the good work! (|:)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Heya. Okay, so I'm beginning to grow tired of this story (and I'm sure you must be, too, by now), and I actually sat down and plotted out the end. First time ever doing that. It was weird. But anyways, I'm looking to wrap this up in about 4 chapters. Pretty good, I think. **

**Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own the Newsies.**

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Summer wore on slowly, and so did the headlines. Customers were more interested in shade than news, making our jobs just that much harder. Many of us ended up skipping out on lunches in order to afford dinner. The older boys and I paid for the younger boys' lunches, though. They needed the food more than we did. I lost weight a lot quicker than many of the boys did, maybe because I had more to lose. I didn't notice how thin I was getting until one day when we all gave up on selling papers and went for a swim at the docks. The boys we're happy at first about having to swim in their drawers, when they were used to going starkers, but they grudgingly did it for my sake.

I stripped off my shirt with the rest of the boys, who had all learned to just accept my quirks and enjoy the view. Not that there was a whole lot to see, since I was pretty scrawny, and I kept myself wrapped up, but still, to them, I was a half naked girl. Glancing down to undo my trousers, I noticed that my ribs stood out clearly under my skin, with all their bumps and irregularities from me getting the snot beat out of myself. My hip bones too, pushed through the front of my trousers. I noticed something else. I had a waist. I had that curvy hourglass shape that the boys used to signify "girl." Maybe not quite as exaggerated, but I still had it. I smiled to myself. The irony was cruel, when I wanted to be a girl, I looked just like a boy. Now that I needed to blend in with boys, I started to look like a girl. Jack noticed me examining my sides.

"You'se needs ta eat more. You'se is too skinny." He commented.

I shrugged and finished stripping down to my underclothes, before diving into the water with the rest of the boys. I rolled onto my back and floated peacefully, soaking up the blazing July sun. There was a loud splash and I found myself swamped by a wave as Jack cannonballed into the water. I arched my back, and slid headfirst deeper into the water, flipping over before coming back up to the surface.

We had gotten two new newsies, and older and a younger brother recently. The older one, David and Jack became almost instant friends after a small spat or three. Les, the younger, idolized Jack. I watched Les flounder past me. He wasn't the strongest swimmer out here today. I rolled over on my back again and backstroked near him. His head ducked under the water as he stopped paddling. I ducked under after him and hooked an arm around him, draggin him back up to the surface.

"You'se supposed ta keep ya head _above_ da watah." I teased after he had caught his breath. "C'meah."

I took both his hands. He looked panicked and stiffened until he noticed that I was keeping us both afloat. He relaxed and slipped back under the water. I dragged him back up.

"Nah, see. You'se gotta kick wid ya legs. Keep ya arms stiff, 'nd I'se can hold you'se up. But if you'se kick, den you'se keeps yaself up. Try it."

He did, tentatively. I felt his toes brush my leg and he jerked them away, promptly dunking himself again. I sighed and pulled him back up.

"My foot touched somethin'!" He gasped, once I had him back on the surface.

"Dat's jist me. Heah, I'm gonna pull you'se, 'nd you'se woik on kickin'." I instructed. He nodded and gulped.

Holding both his hands, I used my legs to propel me backwards, towing him along with me. He fixed his eyes on my face and kicked for all he was worth. Water flew everywhere.

"Hey, Tigah!" I laughed, "Calm down. Kick slowah, 'nd try and keep ya legs undah da watah."

He did as I said, marveling at the fact that it worked. I stopped, treading water.

"Okay, I'se gonna let you'se go. Try kickin' and usin' ya arms like ya was." I coached, letting him go. He made two strokes before slipping under. But before I could catch him, he clambered onto my back, wrapping his legs around my waist and his arms around my throat, and pulling me under. He panicked as I went under and held on tighter. I calmly kicked back to the surface.

"Hey, hey." I soothed once we had surfaced. I didn't want to pry him off and scare him more, but I couldn't breathe. "Les, you'se can' panic when you'se go undah. You'se gotta stay calm 'nd use ya legs to getcha back up."

He just whimpered in my ear, hiding his face in my neck. I felt bad for him, but I couldn't freaking breathe.

"Les, honey, you'se gotta loosen up a li'l. I'se can' breade." He did, but clamped right back on when he noticed how far we were from the shore. "Les! I'll take us right back, but you'se gotta let go some!"

He loosened up again, but I could feel his little chest heaving. "Okay, hold ya bread, I'se goin' undah."

I waited for the deep gasp that meant he had listened, before ducking forward under water. I swam as quick as I could with his extra weight, making sure to surface often. David was panicking, looking for Les when I reached them.

"He's right heah, David." I sighed when surfaced close to them. He splashed towards me, snatching Les off my back. He could keep him. I was gonna have bruises from that kid.

* * *

Newsie life stayed simple. I taught Les how to swim better, until he could swim laps around the rest of us. We sold whatever papers we could in the boiling heat, and we scraped together a living. Jack forced me to eat more. Jack and I fought constantly, and he would always send poor Racetrack to fix things. Jack found that he fancied Sarah, David's older sister, and so he spent much of his free time chasing after her, much to the boys' amusement, and my carefully hidden disappointment.

I got into constant fights with the street rats and newsies from other boroughs. None of them were my fault. Well most of them weren't. The other boroughs heard about the little newsie that fought like a kid twice "his" size. Racetrack discovered that there was a fortune to be made betting on my fights, especially since I never lost a fight. More often than not Jack had to pull me off. He grumbled about me being so fight crazy, but deep down, he was proud of me for being so tough. Silly boy. Life was happy, even if we barely were getting by. Things were good, until suddenly, something changed.

We all had known that Pulitzer's and Hearst's little profit war was going badly for Pulitzer. It was hard not to, considering we worked for him, and it was obvious because the "Journal"s newsies always had an easier time selling. But we never expected him to raise our prices, until he did.

All it took was one morning for us to see our futures come crashing down. Many of us could no longer afford the papers, and without the papers, we lost our living. It was hardest on the young boys, who could barely afford their food and lodging. And the older boys could only do so much to keep us all fed and housed.

Jack was rabid. He considered each and every Manhattan newsie's fate to be his personal responsibility. And faced with something like this, he just couldn't take it. He withdrew into long periods of silent depression, while the rest of us struggled to afford papers to sell.

Spot was unhappy too, but instead of brooding, he expressed his desire to beat Pulitzer's head in with his cane. I ended up spending a lot of time with him trying to convince him not to, and he finally calmed down, after Dove left him. In fact, that's where I was currently. In Brooklyn trying to calm down Spot after Dove just left him. The mighty King of Brooklyn had been brought to his knees by a Manhattan chorus girl.

I was crouched next to him as he was curled up in a ball in a corner of a rooftop, where no one could see his distress. I don't blame him, because he's sobbing his little cocky heart out. I was rubbing his back and making sympathetic girl noises, while I was thinking how ridiculous this is.

"So what happened, again?" I asked, hoping to understand him this time. He sniffled.

"Dove left. She said dat she don't take 'mistreatment' offa nobody." His shoulders heaved and she started bawling again. Okay, I understand that you love her and all, but c'mon, man up. I'm not bawling over Jack. As much as I may want to. My patience began to wear thin. _3… 2… 1…_

I smacked him upside the head. He hiccupped, and looked up at me, startled. I was seething.

"Jist man up! Go crawl back to her and tell her you'se loves her, and is sorry."

"But, I'se da King o—" He started to protest, before I cut him off.

"You'se da king a' nuddin'. You'se has no pride. Now go tell me great great grandma you'se sorry, before you'se screw things up even moah!" I pointed stiffly at the fire escape. He fled down it from my wrath. I sighed and leaned heavily on the half wall that enclosed the roof. If I didn't need Spot to live, I would kill him.

I was on my way back to Manhattan, when running footsteps rang out. I turned to find Spot hurtling down the street behind me. He stopped behind me, doubled over and gasping for air.

"She said no! She won' take me back!" He wailed when he regained the breath to do so.

He was sobbing now. In the middle of the street. People were looking. I had to get him out of here. I grabbed his ear and dragged him back to Manhattan with me. I was never going to live this down, and neither was he.

* * *

When I reached number 9 Duane Street, I was relieved to find the house still empty. I sat the sniffling Spot on Racetrack's bunk. Dear God, what did that girl do to him? This was so un-Spotlike. Before I could leave, Mush wandered in.

"Mush, watch him. I'se gotta go see Dove." I ordered. Mush looked bewilderedly at Spot.

I guessed that Dove would still be at Medda's. I hoped that she'd still be a Medda's. I was in no mood to go chasing that stupid girl all over New York. I needed her to make up with Spot so I could get him the heck out of Manhattan. The trail of chorus girls was just leaving as I arrived. I couldn't see Dove.

"Dove? Hey, wheah's Dove?" I asked the girl nearest to me. She was a mousy little thing, and wasn't much inclined to answer the question of a furious little boy. She simply shrugged. I continued to wade through the crowd of girls until I spotted the familiar girl.

"Dove! Dovedovedove, wait!" I hollered as I chased her down the street. She turned her brow furrowed. Her lips started to form the word "Who?" until she realized who I was.

"Oh, Charley. How lovely to see you again." She greeted politely. I had no time for niceties.

"Lis'sen. Whatevah you'se did ta Spot, you'se gotta fix it."

"Charley, I know that you know how it feels to be ill treated by a boy." she sighed.

"Dat's not da point. Right now, he's sittin' on Racetrack's bunk, bawlin'. I'se needs you'se to fix dat."

"He's… crying?"

"He loves you'se. You'se have no idea how much."

"He… loves me?"

Dear Lord this girl didn't get it. I grabbed her hand and stomped off towards Duane street, dragging her with me. She just followed meekly.

When Spot and Dove emerged from the bunk room, where Mush and I had left them to talk out their differences, Dove was fairly glowing with happiness, and Spot was looking much more cocky.

"You were right!" She giggled as she passed me.

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**Well, I plotted this out to end in 3 chapters, and then I wrote the swimming scene, and the whole Dove v. Spot scene, and pretty much, this whole chapter wasn't supposed to happen. Darn it. Oh, well.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Heya. Let's try and get back on track with my road map of the ending here.**

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Spot was growing curious about his future, especially after my insistence that he fix things up with Dove. I tried my best to dodge these questions, because I felt it wasn't right to let him know that sort of things, but one day, he cornered me.

"Is I gonna marry Dove?" He demanded. I nodded. He looked relieved.

"When do I die?" He asked, more gentle this time. I hesitated. I didn't really want to tell him, but his eyes were begging to know.

"In 1982. You'se is ninety-eight yeahs old. It's peaceful."

"What happens in me life?"

"You'se 'nd Dove get married, 'nd have kids. You'se live in Brooklyn ya entiah life. It's a quiet life."

"Do I'se gets ta meetcha again? When you'se boahn?"

"No. But me muddah 'nd you'se are veahy close. Me faddah's da neighbah boy when she's growin' up."

Spot smiled. "Oh boy. I'se'll have fun wid dis. Wait… you'se said we'se has kids. How many do we'se have?"

"Seven." I answered, and scooted out of there while he was still in shock.

* * *

I was on my way home when news of Jack's insanity reached me. Mush caught up to me, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

"Didja heah dat's we'se goin' on strike?" He asked excitedly. I choked.

"Der—wha?"

"We'se strikin'! It was Davey's idea." Mush repeated. David. I knew I didn't like that kid.

"So why you'se out heah?"

"I'se goin' to da bowery. We'se tellin' all da uddah newsies. Come wid me, I'se'll explain it to you'se."

"Shoah." I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. We set off towards the bowery.

"Okay, so let me get dis straight. Jack's tryin' ta get all da newsies, in _all_ of New York ta strike tahgedah?" I asked, trying to figure this out. Mush nodded.

"'nd den what's he gonna do, if dat woiks?"

"Well, den we'se soak da ones dat don' join us."

I could see where this was going. Freaking brilliant, Jack. I just shook my head.

* * *

I had to hand it to Jack, his stupid strike was gaining attention. Of course, it could have been their main tactic used to prevent the papers from circulating—soak the scabs. The scabs were boys who continued to sell papers. And how they dealt with them was by beating the snot out of them. I was all for a good fight, but this was nuts. Mush even developed a way to harass the scabs as best as possible.

He would start trouble with a scab, and take off as soon as the bulls came, and the bulls would chase him, and another newsie would take over the scab. Mush would lose the bulls, and find a new scab. It worked brilliantly, especially coming from Mush. We love him, but he ain't the brightest.

It became a daily routine to hang around outside the circulation center, and wait for the scabs, and soak them when they came. Every day, the small group of scabs would arrive, and the pack of strikers would chase them down the street with a cry of "Soak 'em!", leaving me behind to shake my head.

One day, I did accompany them on their soakings. Today however, the scabs ran into the gates of the circulation center. That should have been a clue that something was wrong, but the boys didn't get it. Neither did I, at the time. None of us figured out what was going on until the carriage doors opened on the other side of the center.

"Jack, Jack, Jack! It's a trap!" Racetrack hollered.

We surged back towards the gates, but they had been closed. Looks like we were gonna fight.

* * *

It was chaos. Men armed with clubs and chains and fists were everywhere. We were going to lose. We were going to die. Now might be a good time to be a coward, and announce that I was a girl to everyone. But I would never forgive myself if I did that. Guess I was gonna get in another good fight.

The newsies all seemed to know not to strike the first blow, we waited for the men to strike. The gangsters, however, didn't make us wait long. One swung at Jack, and all hell broke loose. Nobody threatens our beloved leader. Nobody. The newsies were like angry bees, swarming the gangsters. I had one by the back of the head and was pounding his face into a wall. One had Boots by the neck. I dropped my thug, and struggled through the crowd towards him, when a hail of stones rained down on us. I risked a glance upward to see Spot leading the entire gang of Brooklyn newsies into the fight. Cheers erupted from the throats of the Manhattan newsies, and we fought even harder. The gates were pulled open, and the fight was quickly ended.

"Boys! Smile!" I heard someone yell. I glanced to find a camera pointed in our direction. I dropped to the ground behind the group right before the picture was taken. I decided it was time to get out of there before the reporter started interviewing. I slipped out the gates and scampered away.

* * *

Ordinarily, I had nothing against reporters. Really. And Denton seemed pretty nice. But I wasn't sure if it was the best idea to have physical records of my time spent here, especially since I'm pretty sure that I was screwing up the flow of time by being here. I know that I didn't belong here. I also knew that I had been here too long. I wondered what was going on at home. Did time flow at the same rate? Was I missing for months, or just seconds? Did time stop there? I needed to get home. I couldn't stay here. I dragged my feet as I headed back to the lodging house.

I climbed the stairs to hear the boys all talking at once. It sounded like they were planning something. I stopped in the door to watch them. mush noticed me, and waved me over.

"Charley! Dere you'se are." Jack greeted. "Now, lis'sen, we'se plannin' a big rally. Somedin' da papes can' ignoah. Any ideas?"

"Wheah are you'se holdin' it?" My question was greeted by silence. I sighed. "Would Medda's woik?"

"Dat's brilliant! Snitch, go tell Medda!" Jack ordered.

"Wait! Snitch han' on. Let's get some ideas figuahed out foist." I pulled up a chair, and took a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil that was used to keep scores from the table in the corner of the room.

The boys started pouring out ideas, as I frantically tried to keep up.

* * *

Hundreds and hundreds of newsies gathered at Medda's the night of the rally. There were boys everywhere. All I could do is look around in wonder. A few girls were there too. Jack had brought Sarah, Spot had brought Dove, Blink brought his flavor of the week, and Skittery was kind enough to be my escort, since "No goil should hafta go to a pahty alone." Such a gentleman.

I didn't spend much time paying attention to the speeches, since Sarah was trying to talk my ear off the entire time. Dove and Blink's girl, oh what's her face, were talking to each other, only so that Sarah would leave them alone. And I couldn't get away, since I had to sit at the girls table, because they wanted to make us easy to defend against unwanted advances. The only reason I had to be there was because I was supposed to do the defending. None of the newsies were too interesting in a now "twelve year old boy."

Sarah was babbling on as I idly looked around and nodded every once in a while. Medda came out and did a number. More speeches, another number. And a commotion across the theatre. I spotted the helmets of the bulls. David dragged Jack past, trying to get him out.

"Get the girls out!" David ordered. I nodded and started looking for an exit. All of them were blocked by bulls. I looked up. We were right under the edge of an abandoned balcony.

"Dove!" I yelled lacing my fingers into a step. She moved around the table, stepping gracefully on my hands. I lifted her until she could reach the banister and pull herself up. She leaned over to help Sarah, who I'd lifted up next. Blink's girl was frozen with fear.

"What's ya name?" I hollered at her. She snapped out of it and said,

"Lisa."

"C'mon, Lisa. Let's get you'se outta heah." I ordered.

"But Blink!"

"I'se'll go back for him! Let's go!" I rashly promised. She allowed me to toss her up to Dove and Sarah. I scrabbled up after her.

Dove lead the way towards the roof, with me following after the group to keep the girls moving. Once we were on the roof, Dove walked purposefully over to the edge, picking up a wide plank. She laid it between our roof and the next, stepping onto it and hurrying across. I helped the other girls across, before heading back down into the fight. Dove would get them to safety. Now I needed to go get my boys.

I made my way back out to the balcony quickly, just in time to see Racetrack dragged away from a screaming Medda. I could see Jack running through the crowd, dodging bulls. I called his name, and he started off towards me. I reached over to pull him up, and stayed behind to knock down anyone who followed. I heard Blink catch Jack in the hallway leading to the balcony. He led Jack out to the street. When no one else tried to climb up, I followed them. I almost made it out to the street. That was before a billy club came crashing down on my head, leaving me to drown in blackness.

* * *

The bulls rounded up all the unconscious newsies, loading them into their wagons. I came to in a wagon full of very unfriendly Harlem and Bowery newsies. They recognized me as a Manhattan and definitely were not planning on letting me go, now that they had me trapped. The bulls broke up the fight, though, by jabbing their clubs through the bars at us. One landed a painful blow at my kidneys, and I curled up in a tiny ball.

The bulls unloaded us at the city jail, where we would stay the night before our trial, the next day. They randomly shoved us into cells. I ended up with my lovely wagon mates. The cell door slammed shut after two more newsies were tossed in. I was happy to find that it was a very dazed Skittery and a bleeding Mush that were thrown in.

"I'se dought you'se was supposed ta get da goils out." Mush groaned, wiping the blood from his nose.

"I'se did." I said quietly, watching the other boys in the cell.

"_All_ da goils. Including da one I'se brought." Skittery scolded. I shrugged apologetically.

"She was sohta stupid, Skitts."

* * *

I had fallen asleep leaning on Skittery, when I was awoken by hushed voices coming down the hall. My eyes narrowed. Bulls. I strained to hear what they were talking about. Skittery mumbled something in his sleep.

"They say there's a girl newsie. Dressed like one of the boys."

"Really? Did we arrest her?"

"I'm not sure. That's why we're looking. She's supposed to be real small. Black hair, grey eyes. Goes by Hambone. Dunno her real name."

They were looking for me. They knew who I was. There was a soft chuckle from across the cell. One of the Harlem's was laughing.

"When I'se got in a fight wid you'se,'nd Cowboy hadta pull you'se off, I'se nevah would have guessed." He smirked.

"Please…" I whispered. The bulls' voices came closer. They were talking about taking me out for "questioning." The way they said it made me sure it wasn't so innocent. Harlem laughed softly again. I nudged Mush and Skittery awake, shushing them. They listened to the bulls, too.

"_Please_." I begged the Harlem newsie. Mush realized what was going on. He shoved me into a corner of the cell, settling in front of me. Skittery moved there, too. But it wouldn't do any good, if Harlem gave us away. I shot him one last desperate look. He nodded, and faked sleeping as the bulls reached us. They swept the light from their lantern across us. Not seeing me, the bull nudged Harlem through the bars with his foot.

"Where's the girl newsie?" He hissed.

"What goil newsie?" Harlem mumbled sleepily. "Dere's no goil newsies."

The bulls growled and continued their search. Harlem looked over at me.

"You'se owes me one, Hambone."

"Thank you." I whispered.

* * *

The next morning, we were herded through court in groups of three cells. I clung to Mush, terrified that bulls would find me. The other cells that we were heard with held the rest of the Manhattan newsies, and a few Brooklyn. Except Jack. Jack wasn't there. I stayed towards the center of the group. Racetrack and Spot were cracking jokes at the front. Denton paid our finds. My head was beginning to spin I couldn't wait to get out of there.

Jack was the next trial up on the dock. We stayed to watch, as he was sentenced to the refuge for the next 4 years. We watched the strike falling around our heads. With no leader, how could we go on?

* * *

**Well, I probably should apologize for making Spot into **_**such**_** a pansy the last chapter, but he's so fun to pick on! Anyways, this story is continuing to move slowly, so those who were sad that it was ending, rejoice. If this story continues the way it's been going, it might never end. I really hope it does end, eventually, though.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Heya. I'm on a writing spree! Yay!**

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We continued the strike half heartedly, with Spot taking over as the leader. We protested outside the circulation center, but our hearts were broken. The newsies were a beat lot. Especially with Jack in the refuge. Some of the boys had gone to rescue him, but came back, saying that they couldn't. It wasn't the truth, but we still accepted it. The final straw came when we were gathered outside of the circulation center.

The scabs came out with their papers, just like before, but nowadays, they were accompanied by bulls to protect them. We jeered and booed, but we didn't try to soak them. Until another scab came out. This scab was familiar.

"Race, tell me I'se seein' dings. Jist tell me I'se seein' dings." Spot said, pulling Racetrack up beside him.

"No, dat's Jack. What's he doin'?" Race asked.

It was indeed Jack. He refused to look at us. We all pressed up against the line of bulls, begging Jack to look at us, to tell us that it was okay. That he wasn't going to change. The bulls beat us back. Then, one by one, they let us through to him. I walked over to him.

"Jack?" I asked in a small voice. He wouldn't look at me. "Jack, why?"

He didn't answer. "Look at me!" I demanded. He did. I could see it in his eyes. He had been broken. There was no fire there anymore. I didn't know this Jack. I stumbled away from him. Mush caught me, wrapping me in his arms and holding me tightly to his chest. I cried.

* * *

Tension had grown between the boroughs. They blamed Jack and Spot for their arrested newsies, since they had planned the rally. Fights broke out. Spot was the only standing leader left of the strike. The newsies were no longer united. We just all shared the same enemy. With the fights breaking out, it wasn't uncommon to have to scour alleys looking for our missing friends. More often than not, we found them unconscious, but unharmed. There were times though, when we would have to pray over a fallen friend.

I fought a lot. I begin to pick fights, something I'd never done. fighting was something to take my mind off of the hopelessness I felt. Even if Jack wasn't there to pull me off. I was always bruised and bloody. The boys begged me to stay in the lodging house, not to go out, but I ignored them. Spot and Dove were fighting. The tension was too much for them. I didn't care any longer if they worked things out. I was losing hope in ever going home again.

I was sitting on the docks, humming to myself when someone sat with a heavy thump next to me.

"What are you'se hummin'?" Spot asked gruffly.

"Lullaby."

"Will you'se sing it?" He asked, more gently. I started to sing.

_Toora, loora, loora  
Toora, loora, li  
Toora, loora, loora  
Hush, now, don't you cry  
Ah,  
Toora, loora, loora  
Toora, loora, li  
Toora, loora, loora  
It`s an Irish lullaby_

_Over in Killarney, many years ago  
My mother sang this song to me in tones so sweet and low  
Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way  
And I'd give the world if she could sing that song to me  
this day…_

When I had finished the song, Spot spoke up,

"Dat was beautiful. You'se has a nice voice. Wheah'd you'se leahn dat?"

"Me muddah sang dat for me when I'se was li'l, aftah me faddah left."

* * *

I limped home from Brooklyn. I had gotten into another small spat after I had left Spot on the docks. Mush looked worried as I limped in the door.

"You'se was out really late. You'se okay?" He asked, slipping an arm around me to help me up the stairs.

"Yeah. Nuddah fight." Mush led me over to Jack's bunk. My bunk, now.

"Mush?" I asked quietly, "C'n I'se stay wid you'se tahnight? I'se don' wanna be alone."

"Shoah." He boosted me into his bunk and let me curl into a ball against his chest. I planted a quick kiss on his cheek. I was lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of the boys sleeping.

* * *

I decided to go back to Brooklyn the next morning. I was only a block away from the lodging house when I heard a scuffle in an alley, followed by a cry of pain. I stopped, weighing the wisdom of getting involved in another fight, when I was in the shape that I was in. I decided to be stupid, and damn the consequences. I dashed into the alley.

A group of boys were gathered in the alley around a fight. I tried unsuccessfully to work my way through the throng to see what was happening. I heard more cries of pain. Whoever it was, they were losing. The fight would be over soon, unless someone interfered. I managed to get through the crowd enough to see some Harlem newsies pounding a smaller body. I recognized the red suspenders that the figure wore. It was Spot. He must have been coming over here to see us, and they jumped him. One of the Harlem's pulled a knife and went for Spot. I didn't hesitate.

I broke through the crowd, aiming for Spot. A familiar voice screamed for me to stop. I flung myself in between Spot and the knife.

I saw the knife come down. I watched it enter my chest. I watched the blood well out of the wound and flow down my shirt. My ears were ringing. The Harlem boy's face filled my vision. He was the one from the jail. Hands caught me, lowering me gently to the cobbles of the alley. The crowd let another figure through. My vision was blurring. I realized it was from tears. the figure scooped me up, carrying me away from the fight. They stopped in the lodging house, laying me on a bunk.

Faces gathered around me. Mush was crying. Racetrack's mouth opened and closed like a fish. I fought to focus on the figure of my rescuer. A scrap of red. Brown eyes. Sandy hair falling across his face.

"Why are you'se so stupid?" Jack sobbed. I reached up to touch his face, but I just couldn't lift my hand. He looked to the knife, and gently wrapped his fingers around it, sliding it out of my chest and dropping it to the floor. I gasped and choked. The blood around the wound bubbled.

There was a glow behind the boys. I struggled to turn my head to see it. A little girl stood there in a white dress. She was bare foot. Golden ringlets tumbled around her head. She glowed from the inside.

"It's time to go." She said, in her little girl voice.

"No." I argued. The boys tried to shush me, telling me to save my strength. Couldn't they see her? Couldn't they hear her?

"Yes. Charley, you need to let go."

"No. I'se can'. I'se can' go!" Tears rolled down my face. She gave me a small smile.

"I'll wait. Say goodbye, and then I have to take you with me."

I turned my head back to the boys. All of them were crying freely. I tried reaching out to Jack again. He caught my hand and held it to his cheek.

"Finish what you'se stahted. For me." I murmured. "I love you. All of you'se."

I choked. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I had so much more to say to them. I wanted to tell them not to miss me. I wanted to tell Racetrack to quit gambling. To tell Spot to take care of Dove. To tell them to make sure to eat enough and stay warm this winter. To tell Blink not to be so hot headed, Skittery to cheer up, Mush that he was a good friend. To tell Jack that I loved him. That. I had to say that.

"Jack…" I gasped. He leaned closer. "I love you."

"I'se know." He said. I smiled and relaxed. He knew. "I'se loves you'se, too." He whispered, but I was already gone.

* * *

**Don't hurt me. Please.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Heya. Yikes! I didn't realize you all like the story so much! Good thing I have one more chapter, and then it's done. I promise I'll write something else, soon, 'kay? And I swear I was gonna post this right after the last one, so I didn't keep you all in suspense, but I didn't have time to write it, because I went to go see Ian Hunter play in Hollywood. Anyone nerdy enough to know who that is? Oh well…**

**Disclaimer: Alas, no.**

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The darkness slowly faded from around me. It was damp, and still dark, but the darkness wasn't me. I could hear dripping water, somewhere in the distance. Was I in purgatory? Far above me, there was a circle of light. Metal rungs ascending towards it. No, I was in a manhole.

I crawled out into the muggy New York night, lit by halogen lamps and neon. I continued on my journey home like nothing had happened. Zombie-like, I climbed the seemingly endless stairs to my apartment, and unlocked the door. I stepped in.

I heard my mother scream. She launched herself at me, sobbing into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her, rocking slowly back and forth.

"Where were you? It's been seven months since you disappeared! What happened?"

I just shook my head. "Mom? C'n I'se go take a showah?"

"Sure, sure." She mumbled, but didn't let me go. I gently pried her off and lead her to the couch before going and showering.

I looked at myself for a while in the bathroom mirror. My face had changed from the last time I looked in this mirror. My nose was still broken. I had scars. I pulled off my shirt. My ribs still showed through, with all their breaks. In the middle of my chest, there was a long thin scar. The knife.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water nearly scald me. I broke down sobbing. After all I had been through, no one would blame me. I stayed curled up in a ball on the shower floor, warm water pouring down in my head, until the water turned cold. Weakly, I turned it off and crawled out. I pulled on my warm pajamas, putting a hand over the knife scar. It ached. My heart felt broken. Everything I loved had ended, all because of that knife. But I was home now. I could continue on with my life.

I curled up next to my mom on the couch, letting her hold me and rock me. She started to softly sing my lullaby.

"Mom? Wheah'd you'se leahn dat?" I interrupted her. She gave me a little squeeze and answered,

"From my Great Grandpa Sean. He was Irish. And so was my Great Grandma Vienne. You know, he named you, too. He never got to meet you, but said that if I ever had a little girl, I should name her Charlotte."

"Really? Why Charlotte?" I asked, even though I thought I knew why.

"Well, see when he was a young man, he was part of the newsboy strike in 1899. It was always one of my favorite stories he would tell. He met this girl newsie when there was no such thing as girl newsies, and she dressed like a little boy. Really, she was about your age. Her name was Charley, but all the boys called her Hambone, because she was a good liar. She saved Grandpa Sean's life, too."

"How?" I wanted to know what had happened to me.

"She took a knife in the chest for him. Right here." She touched my shirt, right over the scar. "But the funny thing was, when he would tell the story, he always swore that her body just disappeared after she died."

"Like it was taken?"

"No, he always said she just faded away to nothing, right in front of his eyes. I think he was losing it a little towards the end."

"Maybe so." I sighed.

* * *

As the weeks slowly ticked past, I learned more of what had happened while I was gone. My mom had reported me missing, and police assumed I had been kidnapped. They never found a trace of me, though. Like I had disappeared. My mom never had me declared dead, though. She couldn't bear to. The theatre company that I had worked for before I disappeared folded. The owners couldn't take the press anymore after it had been rumored that they had something to do with my disappearance.

My mom decided to keep me close to her, and was thinking about home schooling me in the fall. She said she couldn't bear to lose me again. She knew that she had forever lost the me that she knew. I could tell by the sideways looks she gave me when I was reading, or eating breakfast. The way she tried to correct my heavy Brooklyn accent. She knew something had happened, something that I refused to share, during those months. Her baby came home battered and scarred. I spoke differently. I acted differently. I didn't respond to "Charlotte" anymore, only "Charley." I had a faraway look in my eyes.

I tried to continue on with my life. I tried to hang out with my friends, but their calls came less and less often now. Even they couldn't stand being around me anymore. I spent more and more time alone, walking through the city. It was on these walks that I found I was haunted.

* * *

At first I thought it was just in my head. So much of the city looked the same, that I thought it was just my mind supplying the familiar sounds. I noticed it more often when I was in Manhattan, though. That's when I could clearly hear _them_. The newsies. They were just echoes in the beginning. But they grew louder and clearer with each day.

One morning, I made my way back to Duane Street. I was standing in front of the lodging house. Or what had been the lodging house. The widows were boarded up. I stood, looking at what had been my home, when I clearly heard a voice coming down from the second floor window.

"Roll you'se for it. Doubl' or nuddin'."

"Racetrack?" I whispered. No, it couldn't be. Racetrack had to be dead for at least thirty years. It was just my head.

As I continued my prowling around the city, things got more and more difficult to explain away.

I was standing in the plaza in front of the old "World" building, looking up at it. Thinking of how many hours I spent shouting out our chants. I heard a voice crying out,

"Extry! Extry! Fiah breaks out on da docks! Halfa' Brooklyn in flames!"

I turned to find the source of the noise. Then I saw him, clear as day. Kid Blink was standing across the street from me. I shook my head and blinked, but he was gone. I needed to go lay down. I turned and headed back to Brooklyn.

It happened again. This time I was out running errands with my mom. We had gone to visit one of her friends in Manhattan, and drop off some groceries for her, because she was recovering from a sprained ankle. My mom and I were waiting on a corner for the crossing signal, when I heard another voice.

"Stop the 'World'! No more papes!"

I looked over my shoulder to find Skittery leaning against the wall of a building behind me. Just then, my mom took my hand and started pulling me across the street. I looked at her in annoyance, and then looked back. Skittery had disappeared.

The next time it happened, I was alone. It was growing dark, and I was late coming home from my walk. I cut through an alleyway that I used to use when I was a newsie. Again, I heard the call of "Doubl' or nuddin'!" from behind me. I quickly turned to see a smirking Racetrack tip his cap to me, and vanish around a corner. I ran after him, only to find that he was out of sight by the time I had rounded the corner. I nearly ran home.

I didn't belong to my world anymore. I realized that now. 1899 had molded me into something that only fit in there. It took me in, made me belong.

The final straw was when I was beyond caring what other people thought of me. I saw Mush before I heard him. He winked at me and asked,

"Buy a pape, sweetheaht?"

I ran to him, before he could go. But before I could reach him, he faded from view. I broke down sobbing. No one came to help me. They just hurried past. I forced myself to stop. I was going to do something about this. I would not let them haunt me. I would find them. I headed off to the library.

* * *

It took me years, but eventually I learned what had happened to most of my friends. It was difficult, especially since I didn't know many of their true names. But I did it. I found each and every one. Except for a single boy. I never did find Jack. I scoured records, manifests, obituaries. But he seemed to have just disappeared. I did find, much to my amusement, though, that picture that had been taken after the Circulation Center fight. You could see my face between Jack's feet. I guess I didn't make it out of the picture after all.

I started to ask around the internet for any clues about his whereabouts. I posted on ancestry and history discussion forums, put ads up anywhere I could and contacted countless genealogists and historical societies. Still, nothing. It had been months since I stopped searching, when I received an email, regarding a post I had made on a forum.

_Dear Charley, _it read. _My grandson recently found a post that you had left on a forum. He didn't tell me which one, but he said that you were looking for a man named Jack Kelly, or Francis Sullivan. You also said that he was from Manhattan, but you lost track of him right around 1900. I might have known the man that you are looking for. _

_The Jack Kelly I knew was from Manhattan, and had come west in 1901, looking for a ranch. He worked as a ranch hand on my grandfather's ranch just outside Santa Fe, New Mexico. He's buried here in town. If you are still looking for Jack, and think that this could be him, please contact me._

_Sincerely, _

_Joseph Baum_

I immediately wrote back.

_Dear Mr. Baum. _

_I do believe that the Jack Kelly you knew could very well be the one I'm seeking. When is the earliest that I could come see you?_

_-Charley_

I was about to get up from my computer and go get a drink when my computer made a notification sound. I looked down to find an email waiting from Joseph Baum. I sat back down and opened it.

_Charley, _

_You are welcome to come out at any time. Please call me when you wish to come, and we can arrange to meet._

At the bottom of the message was a phone number. I saved it in my phone and typed my reply.

_I'm flying out tonight._

I stood up and went to my room to begin packing. I was nearly finished when my mom asked,

"Aaannddd where do you think you're going?"

"I'se flying out ta Santa Fe. Please move, I'se got a flight ta catch."

Her mouth pulled into a thin line. She hated my speech now, but she had stopped correcting me long ago.

"No, dear. You're not."

"Muddah, I'se nineteen yeahs old. I'se'll go wheahevah I'se damn well please, 'nd you'se ain't gonna stop me."

She knew she was losing. She had one parting remark, before storming off. "Make sure you have somewhere else to come home to."

* * *

I nervously knocked on the door of a small, dusty little home. It opened a minute later, and I found myself looking at an old man. He had the air of someone who was ancient, but he didn't look that way. A life of hard work had kept him in shape. His leathery face stretched into a smile.

"You must be Charley." He greeted me. "Come in, come in!"

"Danks." I followed him through the house to a cheery little kitchen. He motioned for me to take a seat.

"Would you like anything? A drink, or a sandwich?" He offered.

"No, dank you. I'se fine."

Mr. Baum sat across from me and studied my face for a minute. I removed my cabbie cap and twisted it nervously through my fingers. His eyes lingered on my short black hair, my scars, my broken nose.

"You're even more beautiful than he said you would be."

"Pahdon?" I asked, startled.

"He knew you were coming. He told me to watch for you. See, when I was a little boy, Jack told me his secret, well, I guess it's more your secret than his. He told me that he had met a beautiful girl before he left, but she was from the future. He said that she would look for him, sometime around 2009."

"And you believed him?"

"I've never met a more honest man in my life." He stated. I snorted.

"Dat's not da Jack I knew."

"He left this for you." Mr. Baum pulled out a worn envelope, sliding it across the table to me. I recognized the hasty, crooked writing. It could only be him. I opened it quickly.

_Dear Charley,_ I read. I could hear Jack's voice, reading to me.

_First, I wanted to say that I love you. I said it, on that day so long ago, but you didn't wait to hear it…_

Tear blurred the words and I carefully folded the paper and tucked it back in its envelope before I could stain it with my tears. Mr. Baum passed me a tissue.

"Would you like to go see him?" he asked softly. I nodded yes, and he helped me to my feet, linking his arm through mine.

He led me to the cemetery and up the hill in the center. On the backside of the hill, there was a secluded grave, shaded by a grove of twisted, ancient trees. We stopped a few feet away.

"Charley? I'll give you some time to be alone with him." Mr. Baum carefully unlinked his arm from mine, leaving me.

I sat carefully next to the grave, brushing the dirt from the headstone with my finger tips. His name—Francis "Jack Kelly" Sullivan. His dates—August 4, 1882 and May 21, 1971. A single line of words—_I made it, Charley._

"I'se missed you'se." I said quietly to Jack. "I'se looked for you'se, but you'se weahn't dere. All da uddahs weah, but not you'se. I'se almost couldn live widout you'se. It's been hahd. But you'se managed ta live a long life widout me. I'm glad. I'se hope it was happy."

I felt his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into his side and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I'se dunno how you'se did it. It's only been dree yeahs for me, and I'se felt like me heart was bein' crushed evahy second a' it."

A sympathetic smile.

"I'se loves you'se, Jack."

_I know. I'se loves you'se, too._

He was pulling away from me.

"Wait."

_I'se has ta go, Charley._

"You'se can' stay?"

_No. I'm sorry._

"Den c'n I'se go wid you'se?"

He reached out a hand towards me. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me.

He kissed me gently, pulling away to look at me and smile. We linked arms and he led me away through the cemetery, away from the small, once broken body that was curled in the grass beside the grave.

He kissed me again, and I heard the newsies catcalling.

* * *

**Okay, we're done, now! See, it's not all bad! A little sad yes, but everything works out. Thank you so much, each and every one of you who favorited, reviewed, added me to your alerts. I love you all, and I look forward to writing more for you! *sniffle***

**Also, Spot did marry Dove, but Dove's real name is Vivienne, or Vienne. Thanks, Butterflywritter for letting me use her!**


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